


Come Into The Water

by Das_verlorene_Kind



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Both the movie and the fairytale, Elements of The Little Mermaid, Falling In Love, Happy Ending, M/M, Merman!Pete, a bit of magical realism, mermaid au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2020-08-10 19:53:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 34,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20141074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Das_verlorene_Kind/pseuds/Das_verlorene_Kind
Summary: After a storm, Patrick finds a stranded merman at the beach. Patrick saves the merman's life, and in turn, the merman grants him one wish.Patrick wishes for friendship. And gets so much more...





	Come Into The Water

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, everyone! Welcome to my summer fic!
> 
> I've wanted to write a merman fic for a while now, and the summer challenge was the perfect occasion to sit down and actually do it. It somehow became much longer and more elaborate than envisioned, but isn't that always the case?
> 
> Anyways, thanks to Snitches for all the support and beta-reading, you're the best!  
And thanks for everyone in the group chat for all the encouragement! It was a fun experience.  
This time, the title is taken from a lovely Mitski song for a change. 
> 
> All artwork done by me.

The old lighthouse stands proudly on the cliffs, overseeing San Diego’s ocean coast, although it’s flame has been out for nearly a century now.

Old Point Cabrillo hasn’t been in use for a long time, at least not as a lighthouse. Today, it serves as a museum, a time-capsule into the 19th century, and an exhibit of the surrounding marine life. It offers authentic exhibits about the day-to-day life of the old lighthouse keepers, various specimens of the local flora and fauna, and most importantly, it offers a job.

And said job is the reason why Patrick is standing in front of the antique wooden door of an old lighthouse in San Diego, 2000 miles away from Chicago, sweating nervously.

This is not where Patrick wants to be. But after earning only a bachelor’s degree in museology and two years of academic fatigue and unsuccessful (and if he is honest, half-hearted) attempts to obtain a Master’s, Patrick has come to the sad conclusion that this is the best he can get for now.

San Diego – no, a lighthouse _ near _ San Diego – is really not where Patrick wants to be. But he’s underqualified to work in his incredibly competitive field of studies and his father has been working with the National Park Service all his life, he knows the right people, and all that helped Patrick to a job offer he couldn’t refuse, lest he wants to slave his life away working in retail with crippling student loan debts looming over his head.

It’s simple, in theory. Patrick has to care for is a small, old-fashioned lighthouse turned museum. There are volunteers in historical fashion to help with the tourist as well as maintenance, a whale skeleton preserved and displayed outside, and even a small authentic apartment at the lighthouse for Patrick to live in on property.

It all comes with the small price of having to move to the outer fringe of San Diego, where there’s nothing but highways, beaches, potential sunburns, and no one and nothing Patrick knows. No one else seems to care that Patrick has to uproot his life 2000 miles away to take care of a historical building he shares no history with, save for the nepotism in his family.

Maybe, it can just be a summer job, something to give him the much-needed experience to move back and find a job at one of Chicago’s many museums. Patrick keeps telling himself so, even as he packs up what little belongings he owns, gives notice to quit his apartment, and says goodbye to the city he loves so much.

Patrick is a stranger, which is abundantly clear from the way he looks with his pale skin —that refuses to produce anything but a sunburn — to the way he speaks. The tourists eye him with suspicion, and the other volunteers eye him with disdain as well. Not only is he an intruder, he’s a nuisance, he’s the outsider who took away a job, probably from someone much more qualified and involved with the preservation of the damn lighthouse. Someone like Andy.

Andy wears gym clothes everywhere he goes, and despite his full-time work at the lighthouse, he volunteers for about half a dozen other good causes. He’s smart, capable, and it’s clear he absolutely despises that Patrick got the job mostly thanks to nepotism. Andy keeps his conversations with him short, work-related, and since Patrick doesn’t know much about San Diego’s metal scene or the finer nuances of anarchism, there’s not much else to talk about.

Patrick tries to smile, be as polite as possible, and do the work he can before he gets to go back into the tiny house he lives in that’s stuck in the late 19th century – complete with historical wallpapers, decorations, an old fashioned wash basin and other antique furniture. It looks like the living room of Patrick’s grandma, and Patrick hates everything about it, from the kitsch interior to the two Maine Coons left by the previous museum worker.

He names the cats Miles and Ella in an attempt to make them more sympathetic. The cats certainly don’t care about the names picked out for them. They’re still two big fluffy balls of fur that shed everywhere and only care about Patrick when he feeds them.

About a month in, there’s a storm coming up; warnings all across every channel, and it’s so bad that for the first time, Andy says more than the utmost necessary to Patrick.

“Stock up on food,” is what Andy advises; if Patrick squints, Andy almost looks like he’s wearing a sympathetic expression. “Your car might get damaged, or the streets can be blocked by trees. You’ll need it.”

Patrick nods, and listens to Andy’s instructions for catastrophes. Andy is the one with experience here, after all.

Food and water stocked up, the emergency radio ready to be used, all Patrick can do is wait for the dark, sinister clouds to come closer and unload their promise of destruction.

The storm itself is terrifying.

For the first time, Patrick appreciates the company of the cats; at least someone alive is with him as the apocalypse rains down on them, as the wind tugs at windows, screams of despair. It seems the feeling is mutual – for the first time, Miles and Ella join him on his bed, and allow Patrick to pet them. This is nothing like the simulated tornado from the Science Storms back when he volunteered at the Chicago Museum of Science and History – actually experiencing this is far more scary and somber, leaves him feeling utterly powerless. Patrick curls up with the two Maine Coons on the bed, their purring soothing his nerves as he watches nature’s spine-tingling spectacle outside.

After hours and hours of mind-numbing anxiety and rain, the storm has cleared, the sun shining down on the destruction like nothing happened.

To be fair, the house is still standing, seemingly fully intact to Patrick’s untrained eye. The lighthouse’s tower hasn’t been damaged either, no glass shards laying around, no walls caved in, no flooding either. Patrick informs the park rangers of his luck, and since there’s not much else to do but wait, he decides to follow his curiosity and see the damage of the storm with his own eyes.

The beach is quiet, no one but Patrick walking on the sand; not even the seagulls are back yet. The sun is the only one watching him.

Dark seaweed is covering the sand. Amidst it, the occasional driftwood is sticking out, like bleached bones of strange underwater sea creatures. It is uncanny to walk among it. The beach is so different from yesterday. It seems quieter, a battlefield after the war, nature licking its wounds to prepare for the next blow. A reminder that humans are powerless, insignificant, that Patrick is lucky to be alive.

Heavy-hearted and melancholic, Patrick takes in the view, listens to the waves as they reclaim the beach; high tide is about to bury the sand back under water, drag back the seaweed and wood to spill them somewhere else again.

It’s then when he spots_ it _ among the seaweed and driftwood. A flash of blue and green under tangled kelp. Something big.

Patrick shivers. Suddenly, the beach seems even less peaceful than before. This thing, this creature, it’s huge. Judging by the color, it can’t be a whale, and Patrick doesn’t know anything else this size that lives near the coasts of San Diego. His interest in marine biology never graduated past the nerdy obsession and visiting the Field Museum back in Chicago multiple times.

Despite everything, Patrick decides to get a closer look, albeit from a safe distance.

It’s a merman.

Now, Patrick doesn’t know much about the merfolk – no one does. They’re reclusive, barely interact with humans, keeping their distance from the non-magic bastard children of Mother Nature. Still, many poets have spent countless words on describing the merfolk’s beauty, and more than one desperate sailor has descended into his wet grave for a gorgeous-looking mermaid. Tales as old as time tell about the sirens and their dangerous calls to unlucky seamen, unclear on where reality ends and folklore and imagination starts.

Every once in a while, one gets caught in a fishing net, dead by the time it gets dragged to the surface. They’re either ending up in a science lab or on the black market, where their bones are more valuable than ivory, and their scales are highly sought-after ingredients for questionable medical potions or magic charms. Their artifacts wash on shore sometimes, Patrick’s seen the carefully carved spears, the intricate jewelry, the other strange objects no one can make sense of, displayed in various museums.

But this is a real merman, stranded on the beach. Patrick’s heart is beating faster. He’s not sure if the creature is dead, but it appears very lifeless. There might be a calm before the storm, but after it, there’s an atmosphere of destruction and death that Patrick isn’t equipped to handle. He’s a city child, he’s only seen the sad, flat corpses of roadkill from the comfort of a car, maybe some dead rats. He doesn’t even eat meat. Patrick stares at the merman, the giant tail, the uncannily human body attached to it. He’s never seen anything quite so _ dead_. In its own perverted way, it’s almost majestic.

Morbid curiosity makes him forget about safe distances. The tail alone is easily almost twice as tall as Patrick’s pitiful height, adorned with rows and rows of what must’ve been pretty, shimmery scales once. But absent water, under the harsh light of the sun, the scales are dried-out and dull, a shadow of their former glory. Sand, seaweed and what seems to be dried blood stick to them; perhaps, the merman has injured himself prior his stranding. The giant tail fin must be a powerful tool helping the merman to move around, except on land, it’s rendered useless. Further up, the scales stop, giving way to a human upper body from waist to head. The skin looks like it was smooth and golden once, before the absence of water and the sunlight has covered it in burns and blisters worse-looking than any sunburn Patrick himself has ever experienced. It seems despite his darker skin, the merman was not equipped to deal with the harsh conditions outside his natural habitat of the ocean.

But the anatomy is so uncannily human. Patrick can see the rib cage, collar bones, a damn belly button even. Muscular arms, almost-human hands save for the webbing between the fingers. The merman’s hair is in intricate braids, adorned with pearls and strange-looking jewelry, which hits Patrick harder than anything else because that makes the merman a person. Someone who’s carefully groomed and adorned himself with things he considered pretty or perhaps important for any other reason, someone who’s had thoughts about his appearance and put care and effort into it. Perhaps, even had help from another member of the merfolk, someone he shares a language, a culture with. Patrick leans over the merman to take a closer look at his face.

That’s when the merman opens his eyes.

Patrick stumbles backwards so fast, he almost loses his footing. The merman’s eyes follow him, blinking a few times. They’re looking at him, no doubt, the merman is conscious enough to realize someone is there. The merman’s eyes are stunning, the gold of the sun captured in it, they are as beautiful as all the poems written about them claim them to be. The merman opens his mouth, as if trying to speak, and Patrick wonders if this is one of the legendary sirens, said to lure humans into their doom with their tempting voice, but the merman only manages to cough up bloodied saltwater.

A cold chill spreads over Patrick’s body. This creature – this _ person _ is alive. Barely, and not for long if he doesn't get back into the water.

With panic, Patrick considers his options. The tide is rising, but it will probably take too long to reach the merman – if he even has enough strength left to roll himself back into the deeper water. Is Patrick to call animal control, or the coast guard? They might take too long to arrive, given the extent of the storm’s damages. They might not even believe him. Whoever comes, they might kill the merman – Patrick has never heard of one surviving captivity, let alone the greed of anyone willing to harvest their bodies for their expensive scales and bones.

No, Patrick needs to get the merman back into the ocean, right here, right now, and all alone.

Patrick hesitates. The merman’s eyes are still staring at him, not with fear, more with determination. The merfolk is said to possess great magic, and suddenly Patrick wonders if this half-dead merman is still strong enough to harm him, if the merman is willing to trade his last breath just to take the merfolk’s secrets back to the ocean, and take Patrick with him into the abyss of a wet grave.

Slowly, Patrick crouches down, holds up his hands to show they’re empty. “I won’t hurt you,” he says, not knowing if the merman even understands his words. Hopefully, he will at least pick up on the calm reassurance Patrick tries to put into his voice.

“I won’t hurt you,” Patrick repeats. “I,” Patrick points at himself, “just want to help you,” he points at the merman, “get back into the ocean.” He points at the waves, and while the merman stays silent, he doesn't make any attempt at defending himself or hurting Patrick.

Patrick decides to go with his first impulse – roll the merman back into the water. He puts one hand on the merman’s shoulder, and after hesitating for a moment, puts his other hand on the first rows of scales that trail down from the waist. It feels wrong under his fingers, distinctly not human. Patrick pushes past the uncanny feeling, and tries to push the merman on his back. With little success.

It takes an enormous effort, because despite his lithe build, there’s a 10 foot tail attached to the merman, rendering him too heavy to really be pushed. By the time the merman is on his back, Patrick is sweating already, and it seems the merman is just as exhausted as he is. Navigating on land can’t be easy for someone designed to float and swim in the water.

In his desperation, the only other idea Patrick can come up with is to drag the merman back to the water. “I’m sorry,” Patrick says as reassuringly as possible, “we will need to try something different. I’ll try to lift you up a little to drag you back, okay?”

Again, the merman says nothing, but he makes a small gesture that Patrick thinks could be a nod – hopefully, that gesture means the same to the merfolk.

Patrick kneels behind the merman’s head, reaches under the merman’s arms and after some trial and error, Patrick has his arms slung around his upper body, the merman’s back pressed against his chest. This is way closer than Patrick ever wanted to get to the merman, and he tries to ignore how dissonant it feels to have a back fin pressed against his belly, or how dark red blood from one of the merman’s wounds seeps into his shirt.

Instead, Patrick tries to focus on not throwing out his back as he tries to drag the merman over the sand back to the ocean. It’s close to impossible, the merman weighs more than Patrick can really carry, yet giving up isn’t an option. This is a living, breathing creature depending on him, and the water is so tantalizingly close, the waves just out of reach. With what must be his last strength, the merman tries to move his tail, and Patrick can feel the frustration that radiates from the merman when he notices how the movements that surely help to navigate underwater are mostly useless struggles on land.

Somehow, they make it. Sweat and tears roll down Patrick’s face and angry, frustrated groans fall from his lips, but then he can feel the waves hitting his ankles. Just a bit more, just a little, despite how much his muscles scream under the unusual strain. The merman keeps thrashing around, which is just enough to support Patrick’s effort so that he makes it knee-deep into the ocean. Once the waves wet the merman’s body, he becomes even more agitated, tail thrashing and splashing until finally, they’re far enough into the water that the merman can support his own weight again, can use the power of his long tail and big fins to push himself further into the water.

Patrick is up to his hips into the water now, struggling to maintain balance. It seems safe to let go of the merman now, who immediately dives under, and with a few flaps of his fin, the merman has vanished back into the ocean and out of Patrick’s eyesight. Startled, Patrick stares into the waves, but within a moment, the merman is already gone.

Perhaps, it was all a dream? Patrick’s aching muscles and the dark-red stain on his t-shirt say otherwise. Well, it seems the merman lives, for now at least. Hopefully he is strong enough to survive the strain that was put on his body. Patrick turns around, but before he can walk back, he is cut off by a large tail.

The merman swims in circles around him multiple times, as if to observe; his movements are completely silent, nothing but a glimmer of turquoise scales and golden skin. Patrick doesn’t dare to move, fear taking over – the merman moves like an elegant, deadly predator, closing in upon him, and all Patrick can do is watch.

Finally, the merman’s head emerges from the water. For a while, they just look at each other.

Then, the merman opens his mouth, a flash of sharp teeth behind his lips as he says: “You saved me.”

Surprised, Patrick stares at him. “You can speak English?”

The merman furrows his brows a little, as if Patrick had asked an entirely unreasonable question. “I speak whatever tongue is necessary.”

Patrick nods weakly, because he doesn't really have any other reaction. Just an hour ago, he would’ve laughed if someone had told him he were to even see a merman, let alone talk to one.

“You saved me,” the merman repeats, eyes still fixed on Patrick. “You saved my life, and now, it is yours. I will grant you one wish, and will make sure you will get whatever your heart desires.”

“A wish?” Patrick says nervously, and the merman nods. Anxiously, Patrick chews on his lower lip – he knows the stories, the fairy tales and folklore, about humans meddling with magic, and never has it turned out well for the human. Fate doesn’t appreciate interference. Magic always comes at a price, one Patrick isn’t sure he is willing to pay.

“I don’t need a wish,” is what Patrick therefore says, “I’m just happy to help, I guess.”

The merman stares at him in what seems to be annoyance. “You cannot refuse,” he says ominously, “I owe you my life, and you owe death a victim. Balance must be restored. Make a wish, human.”

With a sigh, Patrick looks down to the waves tugging at his shirt. It doesn’t sound like the merman is playing a trick on him, quite the contrary – he really won’t let him go until Patrick makes a wish, and possibly entangles himself in the webs of fate until his inevitable demise. That’s what Patrick gets for breaching into the territory of a magical being.

“I suppose I can’t ask for world peace?” Patrick asks with a nervous chuckle. Again, the merman furrows his brows, and deliberately flicks his tail fin to splash Patrick with water.

“No merman’s magic is strong enough to heal the countless wrongdoings of all of humanity,” the merman says with what sounds like scorn. “How noble of you to ask, though.”

“It was worth a try.” With another sigh, Patrick looks at the merman again. With his tail submerged, he looks almost human were it not for the sharpness of his teeth, his amber iris being just a tad too big. But the merman is still magnificent, a creature of ancient magical descent, he’s seen things humans have never laid eyes upon, he must be full of stories of his kind that no human has ever listened to – Patrick knows he’ll never have the chance to talk to someone of the merfolk ever again. And Patrick doesn’t want to make a grand wish, because he doesn’t want to pay the inevitable price that comes with it. He’d be happier to lead a normal life, and know that his efforts to safe the merman haven’t been in vain.

Therefore, there is only one thing Patrick can think of asking for.

“I wish for your friendship.”

Only the sound of the waves around them can be heard for a while. The merman stares at Patrick with irritation, flicks his tail fin again. The saltwater stings in Patrick’s eyes, but he says nothing.

“A strange wish,” the merman concludes. “Do you not desire anything more common? Knowledge, power, beauty, the heart and love of another human? Do you not seek fame and fortune, gold and treasure? I can give you any of that, if you wish.”

“I don’t.” Patrick is rather sure in his decision. It’s not that he doesn’t necessarily want any of that, it’s just that he’d rather not obtain it through ominous magic and a deal with… Well, perhaps not the devil, but a strange and slightly intimidating powerful magical merman who does not seem too happy about owing his life to Patrick now. “You told me to make any wish I want, and that’s what I did – I wish for your friendship. Can you grant me that?”

The merman stays silent again, pondering Patrick’s words. “I can,” he says after a while, and Patrick feels relieved. It’s but a small wish, nothing harmful, nothing greedy, he’s not asking for anything impossible or hurtful to either of them.

How bad could the consequences of such a little insignificant wish ever be?

“You are very strange indeed,” the merman’s voice interrupts Patrick’s thoughts. “but I owe you my life, and I owe you the wish. Come find me tomorrow by the rocks, and I will start to see it fulfilled.”

With that, the merman submerges, and with two, three flicks of his shimmery tail, he’s out of Patrick’s sight.

Back at the old lighthouse, Patrick wonders if perhaps, it was all a dream. But his clothes are wet, his muscles still ache from the strain of dragging the heavy merman back into the ocean, and he can still clearly see the merman’s strange appearance in front of his inner eye. No illusion, no _ hallucination_, is that detailed, is it?

The aftermath of the storm grants Patrick another free day, with nothing more to do than some cleaning and feeding the cats, so he really has no excuse not to go to the beach afterwards and see if the merman is real, after all.

Now that he’s had a whole sleepless night to ponder over today, Patrick almost hopes the merman won’t show. He’s still a little terrified of the strange creature – he doesn't know anything about the merman at all, not even his name. Although Patrick is sure the merman spoke the truth and was very serious about the wish, he’s not sure about the rules of magic, about the impact on his life now that their fates are tangled up in a way Patrick never intended them to be.

Against all odds, the merman does show up. From the corner of his eye, Patrick can barely make out a glimmer in the water before the merman’s head emerges the very next moment. All his movements are silent and elegant, and surprisingly fast. That is, as long as he stays underwater – on land, the long tail is rather impractical, as Patrick notices when he watches how the merman hauls himself onto the cliff next to him.

“You came,” Patrick mumbles as a greeting.

“Of course I did,” the merman says, “you wished for my friendship, and I shall not rest until you have what you desire.”

“You make it sound so serious,” Patrick says with a nervous chuckle. “I just want to talk to you a little.”

The merman doesn’t seem to share Patrick’s lighthearted view on the situation. Perhaps, a magical debt means more in his culture than it does to Patrick.

“I never told you my name,” Patrick says, deciding an introduction is needed first.“I’m Patrick. May I ask your name?”

The merman lets out a small, braying sound that sounds like laughter. “You may ask my name,” he says amused, his grin revealing too-sharp teeth, “but I doubt you would understand it, let alone be able to call me by it.”

True to his word, the merman opens his mouth and lets out a string of sounds that clearly aren’t human. Patrick isn’t even sure if all of it was in frequencies he can actually hear. It sounds more like a whale’s song rather than words. Beautiful, yet impossible for Patrick to even attempt to repeat.

“You’re right. I don’t think any human can speak like that,” Patrick admits. “Isn’t there anything… Easier?”

“Easier for you, you mean.” The merman flicks his tail fin against Patrick’s legs. Not hard enough to hurt him, just enough to make Patrick aware of the different worlds they come from. “No, there isn’t. I never bothered to search for a name suitable for human needs. But it seems I need one now.”

Patrick nods. “I’m sorry I can’t call you by your real name. It would be nice to call you _ something _ though, other than merman.”

“Can’t I just take your name? Patrick. That sounds amusing to my ears.”

“My name?” Patrick asks, bewildered. “No, you can’t, because it’s mine.”

“Is it?” The merman cocks his head. “Is no other creature allowed to bear your name?”

“Well, not really, it’s just...” Patrick sighs. “It would be a bit complicated, and frankly, a bit awkward for me.”

“Pa-trick. P-P-Patrick. Trick. I like your name, though.” The merman tries it out a few more times, Patrick’s name rolling off his tongue with ease and a certain delight. “Find me something similar. With the noise from the start of your name, and that sound that makes the tip of my tongue hit my teeth.” The merman drags out the sound of the letters P and T with a grin.

Patrick furrows his brows as he mentally goes over the rather short list of names that fulfill the merman’s condition. “How about Pete?”

“Pete,” the merman repeats with an even bigger grin; it all seems very amusing to him, no wonder given that human language and culture must be mostly foreign and probably very strange to him. “Pete, yes. I like that. Call me Pete then.”

“Pete,” Patrick repeats for himself, and he can’t help but smile. A name makes the merman more accessible.

The merman flicks his tail, splashes some water over his skin. It just occurs to Patrick that being out of the water can’t be good for him, especially since the merman’s – since _ Pete’s _ skin still looks damaged from yesterday’s events. It’s not as bad as when Patrick found him on land, but a few blisters remain, with skin peeling from the shoulders, and while his skin won’t turn lobster-red like Patrick’s, it still looks like it hurts.

Patrick may have gotten Pete back into the safe habitat of the ocean, yet he still feels responsible for the merman’s well-being. Saving someone’s life turns out to be a very intimate experience.

Patrick reaches for his backpack. “I got you something,” he says as he rummages through it, and finds the little green bottle. “For your skin,” Patrick explains as he holds up the bottle, “believe me, I’m an expert on sun damage. It’s aloe vera, to calm the burn and treat the blisters.”

Pete cocks his head, and it dawns on Patrick that even though the merman might speak English, that doesn't mean he can make any sense of what Patrick just said to him. How is a merman to know of plants on land, or sunburns?

“Does it help?” Pete asks, eyeing the bottle like he doesn't really trust it.

“It helps,” Patrick says with all the reassurance he can muster.

The merman doesn't seem entirely convinced, but he does haul himself closer to Patrick, watches with curiosity as Patrick squeezes the lotion into his hand.

The merman’s skin is cool, damp, and very smooth. Too smooth indeed – it is only now Patrick notices that the merman doesn't have any body hair at all. Aside from eyebrows and the intricate braids on his head, his skin is devoid of any hair; no beard, not even any kind of fine facial hair anywhere, nothing on his chest, arms, the back of his hands or fingers. Curiously enough, his pretty eyes are framed by long, black lashes, though Patrick isn’t sure if they serve any needs underwater or are a mere relic from long ago. This is what it must feel like to touch a dolphin. A dolphin with bad sunburn, that is.

Not only does the merman have jewelry in his hair, he also has tattoos adorning his body. Yes, it seems to be ink under skin, perhaps with a different technique, yet the outcome is the same. Three rows of waves span around his right arm, pictures of corals and shells are inked onto the other. Whether they hold special meaning or are simply meant to look pretty, the merman clearly has put thought into them. Patrick hopes one day, he gets to ask Pete about them.

“This feels strange!” Pete’s weird way of laughing tears Patrick out of his thoughts. He squirms a little when Patrick rubs some of the lotion onto his back, and Patrick wonders if the merman is ticklish. “And smells strange, too.”

Afterwards, the merman inspects Patrick’s work, trails his own fingers over the slippery film on his skin. Then, he reaches for Patrick’s hand, who, surprised by the unexpected cold, wet hand, withdraws from the merman’s grip.

Pete looks startled, before his face darkens with grim realization. “You fear me, do you not?”

“No! It’s just...” Flustered, Patrick tries to think of words to deny Pete’s sharp observations, even though there might be some truth to it. “I’ve just never met a merman before.”

“You fear me,” the merman repeats, his golden eyes glaring at Patrick with hurt. “What, do you think I’m some wild beast, here to feast on your flesh? Do you think I’m a liar, here to lure you into a wet grave? Because I am not.”

With shame, Patrick looks away from him. “I know nothing of you,” he mumbles, “only the tales other people – well, other humans told me. About sirens luring men to their deaths, about the curses of the selkies killing dozens. Who are you? What are you? Why are you here?”

“You talk a lot of nonsense.” Pete looks less offended and more disappointed. “None of my people care for your demise. Sirens do not sing for humans, and if a selkie were to curse someone, it’s only because humans hurt them first. I would never harm you for no reason, let alone out of malice.” Pete flicks his tail a little, just enough to wet himself. “Just like you didn’t leave me to die, or sent the hunters after me. Trust is the basis of the friendship you wished for, is it not?”

Patrick sighs, and decides it’s no use to debate the customs and philosophies of the merfolk now. Instead, he holds out his hand for Pete to take. Slowly, Pete does take it, eyes it with curiosity, furrows his brows at the absent webbing between the fingers.

“Your skin is so light,” he says as he keeps playing with Patrick’s fingers. “Only merfolk from the North are as pale as you.”

Patrick shrugs, self-deprecation swinging in his voice as he says: “Yeah, I wasn’t exactly made for the California beach life.”

Pete looks at him, confused. “So you don’t belong here.”

“See, it’s a bit complicated,” Patrick tries to explain, “humans travel all over the world, and… We have ways to protect ourselves from environments we weren’t made for.”

“You traveled, then?” Pete cocks his head, clearly curious, yet not fully understanding human habits.

“Kind of.” Patrick sighs, before noticing Pete is just as confused as he was before. “Yeah, I traveled here. I used to live in Chicago, a city far away from this coast, but then things got complicated, and I needed a job, so I came here.”

“You traveled such a distance for work?” Pete still sounds slightly confused. “You must be special. Was there no other human who can do what you do?”

“There are tons of them,” Patrick scoffs, his voice harsher than intended. “But my dad knew the right people, and they gave the job to me. But in the end… You were right. I don’t belong here, no. Right now, I don’t belong anywhere, I guess.”

“I made you unhappy,” Pete says quietly, and he lets go of Patrick’s hand. “Forgive me.” He sounds genuinely apologetic, and it dawns on Patrick that this conversation is as difficult to the merman as it is to him. After all, Patrick is as strange to Pete as the merman is to him.

Patrick takes a deep breath. “No, it’s okay. My frustration was not aimed at you. You were curious, just as I am.”

“Curious,” Pete repeats thoughtfully, “that is true. And I remain curious, just as you do. Perhaps, humans are more entertaining that I thought – or your company is, at least. For today, we must part ways, but come find me here again tomorrow. Or rather, I’ll find you.”

“You’ll come back?” Patrick inquires with more hope and happiness than expected.

“You wished for friendship,” Pete says, “and I will not rest until I see your wish granted.”

With that, the merman plunges back into the waves, and is gone again.

Things are going back to normal. Streets are cleared of trees, water, and rubble, the sun is back to ensure Patrick’s skin reddens within five minutes should he forget to wear sunscreen or a hat, the museum is open again. The only things that have changed are that Andy remains a bit friendlier, the cats claimed Patrick’s bed to sleep in, and after work, Patrick heads out to see a merman.

At noon, Patrick finds himself sitting on the rock formation again. Perhaps it’s foolish, but it’s not like Patrick has anything else to do. He’s stranded in a strange town far from home – even the merman understood that Patrick’s lost, and doesn’t belong here. Or anywhere, really.

Shoes and socks next to him, pant legs rolled up so he can hold his feet into the water, Patrick waits. He’s wearing his new straw boater, sunscreen generously applied to his skin, patiently waiting for the merman.

And the merman proves to be real for a third time. Pete emerges close to the rocks, carefully navigates around them so his tail won’t get hurt, until he rests on one close to Patrick.

“Your skin looks better,” Patrick observes. “What about your other injuries?”

“It was just minor. By tomorrow, my health should be fully restored.” Pete pauses, then concludes: “I assume the merfolk is healing faster than humans.”

Patrick smiles weakly. “The sunburn alone would’ve plagued me for weeks.”

Pete looks at him with an expression that can only be sympathy. “Thank you for your help,” he says, and he sounds honest. “Your weird ointment did indeed assist the healing process. I’ve never had my skin burned like that – well, I’ve never been away from water for so long before...”

He trails off, and Patrick thinks this might be the right time to ask the question burning on his mind ever since he laid eyes on the stranded merman: “What happened to you, anyway? How did you get stranded?”

Pete stays silent for a while, eyeing Patrick while he ponders over an answer. The merman is always careful in his choice of words, that much Patrick has noticed. He’s clearly way more intelligent and empathetic than Patrick ignorantly assumed the merfolk to be. There’s more to the merfolk than the human stories make them to be, they’re more than just exotic beautiful halflings, more than seductive sirens or silly selkies. Patrick feels grateful to have the chance to get to know a merman for himself, see what they are really like.

“I am indeed what your people call a Siren – it is just that you humans have an entirely wrong idea about us. I am a messenger of my kind, hence why my tongue can adapt to whatever language the receiver is able to understand. Yet don’t be fooled, we may sing for many purposes, but I never sing for the human ear. Usually, I sing for the whales, or I chatter with the dolphins, far out in the ocean.” Pete pauses, aimlessly flicks his tail, splashing water over himself and Patrick’s legs. “When the storm came, a group of whales headed too close to the coast. I followed them to warn them, and to convince them to turn away from the coast, lest they get beached. After a while, I managed to calm them down and sent them back to a safe route, but… Now it was me who was too close to the coast. I knew I had been heading into danger, and I was willing to pay the price if it meant the safety of the animals relying on me.”

Patrick lets out a deep breath he hadn't realized he had been holding in. The storm was bad enough from the safety of his home. What must it have been like for Pete, to be tossed around by the waves, knowing of impending injuries or even death? “That was very brave of you,” Patrick concludes, and it earns him a small lenient smile from the merman.

“Some may call it brave. Some may call it foolish. I made my choice, and I don’t regret it.” Pete flicks his tail again, curling it closer to the rock he’s leaning on; he reaches out a hand, runs his fingers over the shimmery scales, all of them almost healed. “Although I am happy you saved me. Being stranded and left to die at the beach was... Horrifying.”

“I’m happy, too. You deserve better than that.”

Pete sends him another small smile, but says nothing. He trails his hand over his tail once more, stares at Patrick’s legs as he does so. Perhaps, a change in topic would be appropriate.

“You’re curious about my legs,” Patrick states, swinging them back and forth a little.

“And you’re curious about my tail,” Pete replies. “You don’t know whether to fear it, or to be fascinated.”

Patrick shakes his head. “I don’t fear it. It’s just...”

“Not human?”

“As strange to me as my legs and feet must be to you.”

“Fair,” Pete says with a nod, “though I find my scales to be more impressive than the coarse hair covering the skin on your short little legs.”

“Your scales are beautiful,” Patrick agrees with him, glossing over the indignant way Pete talks about his legs. “I’ve only ever seen them at museums before.”

“A museum?” Pete repeats confused. Patrick reminds himself that just because Pete speaks and understands English, he doesn’t automatically know the meaning behind every single word. “I don’t know what that is. I just know there are humans who hunt us for our scales.”

“Oh, that’s not the same thing,” Patrick hurries to say. “None of the hunters have any sort of noble purpose besides filling their own purses. Museums are for science, and to preserve culture. I actually work at one...”

Pete impatiently flicks his tail fin when Patrick doesn't elaborate. “You came all the way to work at a place for science and knowledge? That’s honorable,” Pete says, which means merfolk must value it at least equally as human society does. “I’d like to hear more.”

Patrick decides not to try and explain the burden of having to pay rent and earning money and nepotism to the merman. “Thank you,” he says instead. “The museum I work at, it’s actually the lighthouse behind us.” Patrick gestures towards the building, and Pete’s eyes widen.

“I’ve heard about this place!” The merman exclaims excitedly. “Your ships, they always followed its light, right? It must’ve been before my birth, but rumors say it still emits lights from time to time. I’ve never seen it though.”

“It’s old, and no, I’m afraid it stopped working about a hundred years ago. Ever since then, the tower has been closed off, and it has been turned into a museum, to display what life was like once. Nowadays, the volunteers and I maintain it, I work the ticket booth, gift shop sometimes, I help catalog the inventory, make sure no one vandalizes the property…”

Pete nods. “You maintain your people’s art and culture. Like our libraries, or the halls of Atlantis...”

“I assume so.” Patrick sighs. “It’s not really that interesting though. I just do all the boring work no one else wants to do, and live in a small house outside of the city where no one else wants to live.”

Pete nods again. “You’re unhappy, and that’s why you don’t like the lighthouse.”

Flustered, Patrick shakes his head. “It’s not that simple!”

The way Pete looks at him makes it clear the merman has a different opinion, but he doesn’t argue with Patrick. Instead, Pete reaches out a hand, his index finger poking Patrick’s knee. Patrick stretches his legs out to him, and Pete stares at it with amusement and visible fascination. Pete pinches his thigh, feels the hard bones of the knee joint, trails over hair and muscles down to Patrick’s feet. Those seem especially fascinating to the merman, who’s half giggle, half disgust as he examines the toes. Patrick tries to tell himself that of course, Pete is a merman, so Patrick’s body must be as strange and curious to him as the merman’s is to Patrick.

“Can you swim with these?” Pete asks, poking Patrick’s shin.

“Yes, humans can swim. Not as well as you, but enough to keep us over water for a while.”

“Show me,” Pete demands with clear curiosity and excitement. “Join me in the water. I’d like to see for myself.”

“Uh, I’m not the greatest swimmer,” Patrick says nervously, “and unlike you, I can’t breath underwater.”

Pete shrugs dismissively, looks at him with impatience as he already slides back into the water. There’s barely any waves, the sea is calm, the turquoise water clear enough to reveal the sandy ground and Pete’s shimmering tail. For a moment, Patrick wonders if this is a trick, if the merman is perhaps playing a prank on him; but despite his mischievous grin and splashing his tail, drenching Patrick in saltwater, Pete doesn’t come off as malicious.

Patrick gets rid of his hat and pants (even though the merman doesn’t wear clothes, Patrick still keeps on his t-shirt and boxers), and slowly descends from his rock into the water. It’s as warm as ever, still refreshing but not too cold, calm enough that Patrick can maintain staying above the surface without too much trouble. Pete watches his swim strokes with great enjoyment, chuckling from time to time and exclaiming how weird the flailing movements look to him. Meanwhile, the merman effortlessly circles around Patrick with just a few small flaps of his majestic tail, visibly proud when he notices how Patrick looks at him with amazement. It’s clear that Pete is a creature made to move in the water. His slender build, the gorgeous great tail with the rows of scales, the fins, the strong muscles and skilled movements – he’s a silent, elegant creature of the sea, and so much more.

Too caught up in his thoughts, Patrick misses the bigger wave coming towards them. It knocks off his glasses, saltwater burning in his eyes, and when Patrick involuntarily yelps, he swallows a mouthful of it, coughing as he tries to stay afloat.

Two strong arms wrap around his waist, and Patrick instinctively clutches his hands into black hair and tan skin. After he spits out the saltwater and catches his breath, the panic vanishes; it is now Patrick fully realizes Pete came to his help, and is now carrying him.

“’m good,” Patrick blurts out, even though he’s half-blind, and the saltwater makes him feel like throwing up.

“Don’t worry, I got you,” Pete simply says.

Slowly, Patrick relaxes.The merman waits patiently, hums a soothing tune into Patrick’s ear.

“Thank you,” Patrick whispers as he turns his head to look Pete in the eye. “I’m good, really. The wave just took me by surprise.”

Gone is the sparkle of amusement Pete’s expression. “I’m sorry I made you come into the water,” he says, and the tone of his voice, the sadness in his golden eyes are a clear indication of a guilty conscience. “My curiosity and my need to impress you caused you harm. I’m sorry.”

Patrick shakes his head, sends the distressed merman a small smile. “No, don’t be. If anyone has to apologize, it’s me for ever assuming I’d have to be afraid of you. No, you came to my help, and for that I want to thank you.”

Pete smiles back at him, leans his head against Patrick’s. Now that any sense of danger is lost, being held by the merman… It’s almost like a tender embrace, a quiet moment only the two of them share. It is strange how normal it feels, to be hugged by a merman. Patrick doesn’t know if it holds the same meaning to the merman, and he doesn't dare to ask.

A few flicks of Pete’s tail, and they reach the rocks. Pete waits to make sure Patrick is sitting out of reach of the waves, before diving underwater again. He emerges a moment later, holding something in his hand – Patrick’s glasses. Surprisingly, they’re undamaged, just wet, like all of Patrick’s clothes save for his pants and socks.

“Thank you,” Patrick mumbles again, unsure what exactly it is he is thanking the merman for. “I think I should get home for now, take a shower and fetch some dry clothes before I catch a cold. When… When will I see you again?”

“Tomorrow?” Pete proposes, and Patrick nods eagerly.

A moment later, Pete has pulled himself out of the water. He leans closer until their foreheads touch, trails his hand over Patrick’s face as if to make sure Patrick is indeed alright. It comes unexpected, but this time, Patrick doesn’t shy away from it. He opens his mouth, only to stay silent; he’s never been this close to the merman. They might not embrace each other, but Pete’s gesture is surely one of care, it’s tender and thoughtful, just like his wide brown eyes looking at Patrick with something he can’t quite place.

Before Patrick finds his voice again, the merman has already retreated, leaving nothing but a ripple on the water and a flash of iridescent scales before vanishing once more.

“Goodto see you smile for once,” Andy observes when he passes by the ticket booth next day.

Patrick hasn’t been aware he is smiling. He nods at Andy, and finds that another smile comes naturally, even. “I’ve judged this place too harshly,” Patrick admits. Now that he isn’t caught up in his own misery and homesickness at all times, he realizes that he hasn’t left the best impression on his coworker.

Andy nods back, before heading into the exhibit hall. He’s back in Patrick’s tiny office for lunch break, the first time Patrick has company. They don’t talk much, but it’s comfortable. It’s a start.

Perhaps, Patrick needs to give the lighthouse a real chance.

When Patrick meets the merman again, Pete has a gift for him. He asks Patrick to hold out his hand, and when Patrick does as told, something light and damp is laid into his hands.

It’s a beautiful iridescent shell the size of Patrick’s palm, shimmering in every color of the rainbow. No shell Patrick ever collected while strolling at the beach comes close to being as exotic and striking as this one. It’s so delicate in Patrick’s hand, of marvelous beauty, a stunning piece of the deep-sea world that feels like it was never even meant to be held by him. And yet, the merman thought him worthy of the gift.

“You like science. You preserve knowledge.” Pete nods towards the shell. “I thought you might like it. If you humans really collect beauty and knowledge to display in what you call a museum, this shell seems befitting for the quest.”

“That’s – that’s so nice of you,” Patrick stammers, “but I can’t just put this on display. I need to document its origin, catalog it, and then I’ll need to ask for permission to actually include it in our active exhibit. It’s a whole bureaucratic process. I don’t actually own the lighthouse.”

Pete looks at him with an expression that makes it clear he understands Patrick’s hesitation, but hasn’t really understood why humans are so complicated. “Then keep it in your own lair,” he says amused, flicks his tail fin to splash water over Patrick’s legs. “It was intended to be yours, anyway. You can have a private museum, can you not?”

“I suppose I can,” Patrick says with a chuckle. It’s adorable when the merman tries to figure out how the human world works, and it often reminds Patrick how unnecessarily complicated it can be. “Thank you. It’s precious, and I’ll cherish it. I’ve never seen a shell like this – and without you, I never would have had the chance to experience what beauty lies within the ocean.”

Despite his tan skin and being a merman, it actually looks like Pete is blushing. His grin may reveal sharp teeth, but that doesn’t take away from the pure joy in his pretty amber eyes. He pulls himself out of the water, resting their foreheads together for a moment. He’s gone before Patrick can follow the urge to pull the merman closer.

From then on, Pete brings him a gift each time they meet. A barnacle, a sea urchin spine, a small sand dollar, sea shells in every size, shape, and color, most of which Patrick has never seen in his life. Each of them is chosen with great care, handed to Patrick with the unspoken demand that he needs to take good care of these stunning specimens of nature.

Of course, that is what Patrick does, out of respect for both nature and the merman, and out of gratitude and joy over these tokens of the beginning of a friendship Patrick never thought would’ve come true. Sure, he had wished for it, yet Patrick knows that sympathy can’t be forced, and by now, he knows Pete well enough to know the merman has too much pride to pretend.

Patrick starts to look for things he can gift to Pete in exchange. It’s not always easy, considering it needs to withstand the ocean salt water and the pressure underwater, but Patrick manages to find some nonetheless: Some from the museum’s gift shop, like the little marble whale or the minted coin with the lighthouse, both of which Pete marvels at. The merman seems to like everything shiny.

Not only that – Patrick tries to share everything else with the merman as well. From food to drinks (Pete enjoys sandwiches, everything sweet, and detests fizzy drinks), music to literature (Pete likes to hear him sing, admires the guitar, and is surprisingly quick figuring out idioms and metaphors), to storytelling and art (Pete laughs or scoffs at the depiction of his kind in human folklore, but he declares some human artworks to be equal to the merfolk’s artistry).

The merman watches and listens with patience, asks tricky questions, and seems to enjoy all the strange things Patrick introduces him to. While Pete is less open about the culture of the merfolk, he does share some of it whenever Patrick is lucky enough to catch him in a good mood. Pete tells the fantastic tale of underwater architecture, villages and towns in valleys of the ocean, he speaks of the legends passed down to every generation. Sometimes, he sings for Patrick in the tongue of the merfolk; majestic, otherworldly almost, it never fails to send a shiver down Patrick’s spine.

Now that Pete has lost his initial reluctance, he’s not only more chatty, but also a lot more touchy. Any chance he gets, he trails a hand over Patrick’s legs, prods at his feet, pokes Patrick’s belly and grins whenever he makes Patrick blush. He’s never careless or mean-spirited, he just seems to enjoy touching Patrick, who finds himself abandoning more and more of his boundaries and letting the merman further into his personal space. It feels natural to do so, to have Pete’s hands on his legs or playing with Patrick’s hands, to have Pete’s head leaned against his shoulder or in his lap, feel the cool, smooth skin of the merman against his own.

They’re so different, and yet so strangely alike.

“You look happier,” Andy says to Patrick one day when they man the main exhibit hall together.

Patrick thinks of the excitement each time he meets Pete, of pretty golden eyes, of foreign tales and shared laughs. “Yeah,” he says with a grin, “I think I’m starting to like it here.”

“Took you long enough,” Andy says with a laugh, before he gives Patrick a jovial pat on the shoulder. It’s the friendliest he has been with Patrick so far. “The volunteers and I are going out to Pacific Beach tonight. You should join us. You can’t just stay back at the lighthouse forever.”

Patrick knows what this is. It’s a peace offering, a chance at redemption. If he doesn’t fuck up, it may be his chance to make some friends here – friends that aren’t mermen. Not that Patrick doesn't enjoy Pete’s company, but perhaps some human friends won’t hurt either. Perhaps, the lighthouse won’t be so bad if Patrick stops trying to make it be so bad.

“Sure,” he hears himself say, “I’d love to.”

Patrick is sitting in his usual spot by the beach, this time balancing leftover pizza on his lap.

“This is delicious,” Pete declares around a mouthful of pizza. “You humans do have some tasty food and interesting ideas about nourishment.”

Going out has turned out to be the right decision. As much as he hates to admit it, Andy had a point, Patrick knows he can’t be a recluse forever. Also, he got to meet Joe, a laid-back surfer-type guy who held some opinions on music that Patrick had no choice but to interrupt and correct. Despite that questionable first impression, Joe had grinned and invited him for a beer and pizza and to share more of his thoughts. Patrick accepted, and somehow, they talked through almost the whole night, over everything from music to movies to the mundane things in life.

At the end of the night, Patrick had made his first friend here – first human friend, that is.

It makes for a strange scene, watching this beautiful merman wolf down a slice of pizza. Patrick finds himself smiling at the sight, and he ends up giving Pete the entire leftovers. So far, the merman didn’t have any problems digesting any of the food Patrick brought him, and watching him eat with delight is always a joy. Well, watching Pete enjoy anything, be it the music Patrick plays him on his old guitar or the home-made sandwiches he brings him, is a joy. There’s a glimmer in his amber eyes, and the curve of his smile never fails to make Patrick smile as well. He’s happy to see Pete happy. Perhaps more than he should.

Patrick tries to banish such thoughts from his mind because really, Pete is a merman. Albeit, a pretty one – no, that doesn't matter. At first, Patrick thought he was merely projecting his loneliness onto the merman, but they’ve known each other for weeks now, and Patrick has started to become friendly with his coworkers in the meantime, even make friends with Joe, which has changed nothing about the way he feels about the merman. As much fun as it was to go out for drinks and pizza, and as great as it was to make friends with Joe, there’s a whole different level of enjoyment in sharing this moment with Pete, see the way the corners of his eyes crinkle when he grins, how much fun he has being with _ him _, Patrick. Not just because Patrick made a wish, or because he’s a strange human to be studied, but because they grew to be real friends.

That alone is strange enough, to be friends with an almost mythical creature, to meet a merman at the beach on a daily basis, to share laughs and thoughts with someone who’s not even human. What’s even stranger is that Patrick can’t shake off the need to go just a step further. Each time, he tells himself this is enough, that touching Pete’s tail, petting Pete’s hair, running a hand down his back to feel the muscles working under the inked skin is all he needs, merely something he does to satisfy his curiosity.

When he dreams of beautiful mermen kissing him, he tries to ignore it. He can’t tell anyone either, not his human friends, not the merman, and the cats just meow at him whenever he tells them of his plight. Patrick doesn’t know if the merman could ever reciprocate any kind of romantic feelings towards a human, let alone be interested in acting on them. It would be unfair to expect him to. As tender as the merman’s touches feel to him, as gorgeous as his golden eyes are, no matter how many stories and conversations they share, Pete is a merman, and Patrick is but a silly human too afraid to ruin the fragile friendship that blossomed between them.

While Pete has his boundaries and secrets, it’s not like he’s shy. He still listens and talks with excitement, he’s still touchy as ever, encouraging Patrick to pet his head or tail, or take his hand. Patrick would never dare to take advantage of it, or try to take something from Pete that the merman isn’t willing to give – or perhaps, doesn’t even know the meaning of – but he still enjoys every innocuous gesture and all the time they have together. Even if he has to fight off the urge to draw Pete into a kiss every time Pete rests his forehead against Patrick’s to say goodbye.

It’s a hot summer day when Patrick joins Pete in the water again. This time, in swim trunks and without a shirt. After all, the merman doesn’t feel the need to wear clothes (in fact, Pete finds them to be an oddity, and it’s hard to explain modesty to a merman who’s lived by an entirely different set of cultural expectations), and he’s not stupid, he knows what’s beneath Patrick’s t-shirt, he’s poked Patrick’s belly and traced over his chest more than once.

The sea is calm, and although Patrick has taken off his glasses this time, leaving his vision a little blurry, he can see the worried expression etched into Pete’s face. The merman stays close to him, and it takes some successful swim strokes to convince Pete that he won’t drown the second the merman takes his eyes off of him.

Once Patrick has reassured him he’ll be safe, Pete becomes more playful. He dives under, nudges Patrick with his tail fin, emerges once in a while to pile rocks and shells into Patrick’s hands so he can see what lies beneath them, just out of reach.

“Many humans can dive,” Patrick explains when Pete inquires about his abilities. “I think you need to be a good swimmer and have more endurance than me, though. I can’t hold my breath for long, and my eyes aren’t used to the saltwater. And if you want to go further, you’d need the gear to help you move and breathe underwater.”

Pete cocks his head. “But it’s not impossible.”

“No, it’s not impossible.”

“It wouldn’t be impossible. Humans can swim. And they can dive...” Pete stares at him thoughtfully, and Patrick doesn’t quite know what to make of his remark. Pete dives back underwater before Patrick can ask, and when he emerges to hand Patrick a tiny shell and babbles about the beautiful coral reefs far out in the ocean, Patrick gets the feeling Pete doesn’t want to elaborate.

When they meet again, Pete is holding a large spiral conch shell in his hands. This one is bigger than any of the shells he’s given to Patrick so far, with a brown-black pattern on the outside, while its insides have a pearlescent shimmer to it.

“This one is special,” Pete remarks in a very serious manner. “It holds a part of the ocean. Listen.” He motions Patrick to hold the spiral conch shell up to his ear, and indeed, it sounds like the sound of the waves are trapped inside it.

“I know, many of these shells hold a part of the ocean, but this one sounded the most beautiful to me.” Pete beams with pride. “You like making music. Try playing it.”

“Playing it?” Patrick furrows his brows, unsure if he understood the merman correctly.

Turns out he did, and what he is holding in his hand is an actual instrument. The merman has to explain and show him multiple times before Patrick can get a note out of the conch shell that sounds somewhat bearable. Pete watches him with a smile tugging at his lips as Patrick tries to blow into the conch shell in such a manner that it’ll cause the warm and full tones he’s heard Pete play. It’s not quite like playing the trumpet, but it’s an interesting challenge.

“If only you could hear it underwater. The concerts my people play are magnificent...” Pete trails off, shakes his head. “No, it’s no use to ponder over what can never happen. Keep this one, and one day, perhaps I can bring you one of the shells we use as an instrument. Richly ornamented, and their music is so stunning, it makes the whales weep...”

Patrick smiles as he carefully tucks the spiral conch shell into his bag. “That would be amazing.”

For a while, Pete just looks at him, like he wants to say something. Instead, Pete reaches out a hand, rests it on Patrick’s cheek for a moment before he trails his fingers over Patrick’s lips. Patrick’s eyes widen in surprise, and so do the merman’s; before Patrick can hold him back, Pete plunges back into the water, and is out of sight with just a few flaps of his tail.

Patrick is left behind with his aching heart hammering against his chest, his lips still tingling from the merman’s touch.

The spiral conch instrument gets the honorable place on the small table next to Patrick’s cherished guitar. It looks beautiful, like many of the oceanic treasure Pete brought him, and if he were a lesser man, he’d think about the money it could make him. But Patrick isn’t that cynical and heartless, and he’d rather work at the lighthouse for the rest of his life than to exploit Pete’s trust.

To be fair, he is warming up to the lighthouse – partially because he’s finally allowing himself to seek the positive in it, partially because of his friendship with Pete.

Alone in his bed, with only the sleeping cats to keep him company, Patrick can’t help but think about what happened today. The way Pete looked at him, the way they looked at each other like they _ knew_, but didn’t dare to voice it. It should feel wrong, Patrick thinks, and yet the memory only makes him smile, makes him long to fill that little gap between them and connect their lips for a kiss. The poets were only half-right: the merman’s eyes are indeed beautiful, but there is so much more to Pete that draws Patrick to him.

Patrick sighs to himself as he stretches out on the bed, and buries his nose in the warm fur of Ella. She purrs when Patrick scratches her, and Patrick wonders what Pete would think of these strange little animals, if they’d get along, or if the confused cats would think of Pete as half-fish and therefore, food. Patrick grins at the thought, before he falls asleep. His dreams are full of laughing mermen with shimmering scales and soft lips.

Pete is very reserved the next time they meet. He stays in the water, only his head above the surface, he doesn’t come closer like he’d usually do. Patrick holds out his hand for Pete to take, but the merman shakes his head.

“You wished for friendship,” Pete says in a gloomy voice, “I’ve given you that, have I not?”

“You have,” Patrick answers cautiously. The sudden question scares him. Patrick wished for friendship, and when his wish is fulfilled, Pete has no more obligations to stay with him, has he?

For a while, neither of them says anything. Pete is the first to speak up, and he still sounds rather somber. “It was your wish I was supposed to grant. And yet… I couldn’t help be egotistical about it. I found my own longings overshadowing my purpose.”

Confused, Patrick stares at the merman. He’s never known Pete to be selfish or careless, the merman has never been anything but kind to him. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“What I mean is my need to touch you. To hold you. To kiss you, like no merman should ever kiss a human. To be with you, no matter what...” Pete trails off, then shakes his head. “No. I shouldn’t – I mustn’t. You wished for friendship, and nothing more. I gave you that, and now, I think I should go before I ruin it.”

Patrick thinks his heart is going to explode. Every worry he’s had the past weeks, the merman has shared them, all the feelings he has, Pete has them, too. It hurts to hear that Pete thinks of himself as selfish and bad, that he assumes Patrick wouldn’t want his heart when in fact, Patrick would eagerly entrust his own heart to the merman.

When the merman submerges, Patrick hears himself scream: “No, don’t go!”

And before he can overthink it, Patrick finds himself diving into the water. He’s fully clothed, his hat and glasses almost getting knocked off, but he doesn’t care. What matters is that Pete hurries back towards him, slings his arms around Patrick’s waist to ensure he stays afloat.

For a moment, nothing but the wind and waves can be heard; then, Pete leans in to connect their lips, kiss Patrick tenderly with a quiet moan escaping the merman’s lips when they part.

“A kiss,” Pete whispers almost inaudibly, “it means the same to you, does it not?”

“This kiss,” Patrick answers with a shaky voice as he clings to Pete, “it means the world to me.”

Pete smiles his prettiest smile, nudges Patrick’s neck with his nose. “Can you hold your breath for me?”

Patrick nods, and then they dive down; the saltwater still burns in Patrick’s eyes, but he can’t help but take a quick peek at the blurry merman, before they kiss again.

Although it can’t last more than a few seconds before Pete hurries to get them back above the surface, the kiss feels like it lasts an eternity. It tastes of saltwater and the ocean, of secrets never meant for humans and feelings that were never supposed to be felt by either of them. An eerie vibe accompanies the kiss, the spine-tingling sensation that they’ve crossed a line, ventured into an unknown territory. It can never be like it was before. Maybe it was already too late the moment Patrick decided to save Pete’s life.

Once they break the surface again, Patrick is breathing heavily, glasses askew, his hat lost amongst the waves; it doesn’t matter. He’s in Pete’s arms, safe from the harms of the ocean, his legs wrapped around Pete’s tail like it’s the most natural thing to do, the merman’s golden eyes seeing only him. It is here and now that Patrick decides that whatever the world may throw at them, he’ll protect Pete, no matter what. He knows, even without words, that Pete made the same resolve.

“I don’t know what this is,” Patrick whispers, “but whatever it takes, I never want to stop kissing you. Whatever happens, I want to be with you. I don’t ever want to lose you, Pete.”

“Oh, how easily said in a moment of passion. Are you sure about that?” Pete’s voice is somber, and his smile has a tinge of sadness. “Such claims shouldn’t be made carelessly.”

Determined, Patrick presses a kiss to Pete’s forehead, and says: “I promise.”

Pete looks surprised, then lets out a low chuckle as he buries his face in the crook of Patrick’s neck. He doesn’t give an answer, although he is contemplating over something; Patrick can see it in his eyes, cast downwards, thoughtfully staring at the waves. Patrick sense that Pete isn’t telling him everything here, but the merman is entitled to have his secrets, to open up at his own pace. They just kissed for the first time. There’s a whole world laying ahead of them, no matter how scary, no matter how difficult, Patrick wants to explore it with Pete.

The next days, Patrick walks around with a permanent smile on his face. Thankfully, Andy minds his own business, and doesn’t try to get the details out of him. It’s not like Patrick can tell anyone that he fell in love with a merman, that they meet by the coast every evening for conversation, cuddles, and heated kisses. When he stays intentionally vague while talking to Joe, he seems satisfied to declare Patrick a lovesick fool, wishes him good luck, and demands to be introduced sometime. Patrick smiles, nods, and feels bad for lying. He doesn't think Pete is ready to trust other humans anytime soon. What if he never does? And Pete, he must have family, people of his kin, what would they think about a relationship with a human? Outside their little bubble, away from the safe space of the sand and ocean near the old lighthouse, how much will they have to fight?

Patrick doesn’t think about it. Doesn’t want to, really. He is too much in love, Pete is too beautiful, too magical, too otherworldly and dreamlike to bring him back to reality yet. Patrick knows the merman must worry, too, he can see the thoughtfulness in Pete’s eyes whenever the merman thinks he isn’t looking, he can feel it whenever Pete rests his head on his shoulders or lets out a quiet sigh when they hug. Patrick grants him the same silence that Pete grants him, and instead of words, they have kisses.

On the third day after their first kiss, Pete’s face bears a solemn expression, and his hands open to reveal a single turquoise scale.

“It’s a scale from my own tail,” Pete explains while carefully handing it to Patrick. “You’re human, you can’t know the meaning it bears, but… Be assured it’s one of the most intimate signs of trust us merfolk can show.”

Patrick doesn’t know what to say. The scale in his hand feels like a sacred object, and that the merman gave it to him... Patrick might not be familiar with the merfolks customs, but even he can understand the weight behind the gesture. The scale is round, almost the size of Patrick’s palm, with the pearlescent shimmer capturing the sunlight. Upon closer inspection, Patrick notices it’s not entirely smooth: it has growth rings, a profile of Pete’s life on this earth’s oceans, each year encrypted into the thin lines.

Finally, Patrick clears his throat and says: “I don’t know how to repay you. I’m not sure what I can give back that is as meaningful as this.”

Pete shakes his head. “It is a gift, given to you without intent or expectations of anything in return. Keep this as something to remember me by.” He pauses, flicks his tail to splash water over himself. “I have to leave. I don’t know when I will be back – _if_ I can make it back, that is. Should I not return, keep me in your memory, and keep me in your heart, that’s all I ask of you.”

“What – what do you mean by that?” Panic settles in Patrick’s chest upon these ominous words. “Where are you going? Why do you have to leave at all?”

Pete shakes his head again, with a sad, knowing smile. He doesn't answer; instead, he lifts himself out of the water and next to Patrick on the cliffs, tail curled over Patrick’s legs, forehead resting against Patrick’s. Whatever Pete knows, he won’t, perhaps can’t tell him. All the merman does is to sling his arm around Patrick’s waist, pull him in for a deep kiss. Patrick tastes the salt on Pete’s lips, and some of it must be from the tears that spring from the merman’s eyes, mixing with Patrick’s own.

“Please, Pete, whatever it is you must do, stay safe,” Patrick whispers between two kisses, “I wished for your friendship, and I don’t ever want to lose it.”

“I don’t want to lose you, either. And that’s why I have to go.” Pete looks determined as he wipes away a traitorous tear from Patrick’s own eyes. He presses one last kiss to Patrick’s quivering lips, before diving back into the water. One last splash of his tail fin, and then Pete is gone.

Patrick visits the beach every day. Twice. Before work and after work, he finds himself walking on the sand towards the well-known cliffs. In the evenings, he sits on the rocks, waiting and waiting and waiting for a merman that doesn’t show. He tells Andy it’s homesickness, and Andy is kind enough to leave him alone. He might not buy Patrick’s excuse, but he knows Patrick needs space and under any other circumstances, Patrick would appreciate it. It’s just that right now, fear and heartbreak cloud his vision. The two cats next to him in bed grant at least a little comfort when he cries himself to sleep at night.

After a week, Patrick has almost lost all hope.

It’s on the evening of the eighth day when Patrick spots something weird on his usual walk at the beach. Dawn bleeds red light over the sea, and there’s something lying on the sand, just out of reach for the waves. It’s almost the exact same spot Patrick found a dying merman not too long ago.

But this is not a merman. When Patrick gets closer, he realizes that against all odds, what he sees appears to be a human. Long black braids, tangled with algae, tan skin, the familiar patterns of black ink. This is not a merman, and yet, this – it’s _ Pete_.

Except for the fact that there’s no tail.

Patrick’s brain is on auto-pilot as he hurries to take a closer look.

There’s no merman tail anymore. In its place, there are legs. Human legs. Pete is human. A real, living human, gasping for air as he clings to Patrick, his shaking hands now absent the webbing between the fingers.

All Patrick can do is hold him, trying to calm the merman – former merman? - while also not panicking himself. It is an absurd sight, these human legs where Pete’s tail belonged, more surreal than the tail itself used to be. Patrick grew so accustomed to it, its absence comes as a shock.

Not so much to Pete, it seems. While he still has trouble breathing air, Pete doesn't seem to be scared or surprised at his lack of a tail. His legs twitch once in a while, likely because the merman doesn’t know how to actually use them, but Pete isn’t panicking, he isn’t crying or screaming, he doesn’t seem to be hurt or in pain.

“I’m back,” Pete only mutters after a while, his voice raw and raspy, “I made it back to you.” Pete looks surprised at his own words, puts his hand on his throat as he once more mutters: “I made it back to you.”

“You made it back to me,” Patrick repeats stunned. “Pete, you…”

Patrick has a million questions, but now might not be the time to ask any of them. Pete is naked and cold, shivering in his arms, his strained but content grin revealing teeth that are still just a little bit too sharp to be human teeth. Patrick has a million things to say, but for now, he needs to get Pete to warmth and safety, away from the ocean that once was a home for the merman, yet poses a threat to the human Pete.

Unsurprisingly, Pete can’t really walk. It seems his legs are fully functional, the joints and muscles are there, Pete can move them, it’s just that the merman never had the chance to learn how to use a pair of human legs. While Patrick manages to help Pete to stand up, Pete can’t keep his balance, his legs constantly giving in under him as he stumbles over the sand. Patrick can hear him groan in frustration, and even though Pete seems determined, Patrick deems it best to try out walking another time.

Patrick ends up carrying Pete to the lighthouse. Pete might not have his tail anymore, and he might be of a lithe build as a human, doesn’t stand much taller than Patrick, but Patrick’s muscles are still aching under the unusual strain. It’s worth it for the way Pete croons happily as he slings his arms around Patrick’s shoulders, buries his head in Patrick’s neck, his breath ghosting over Patrick’s skin.

Somehow, they make it to the lighthouse. Patrick manages to get Pete into the bathroom, and into the bathtub. Pete looks very amused by the soapy water and scented foam, and he is eerily calm for a merman that washed ashore once more, except without a tail this time.

“I didn’t know there would be so much hair?” Pete looks down at himself, his hand tracing over the hair on his chest, belly, groin. “And what is it with the human penis? Can’t I tuck it away when it’s not in use?”

“Not really,” Patrick says, somewhat bewildered that he is having such a casual conversation when there’s a former merman turned human sitting in his bathtub, laughing at soap bubbles and poking at his own legs and genitals with great curiosity.

“Pete, just… how?” Patrick gestures towards Pete’s legs. “What happened? Where were you?”

Pete puts his index finger on his lips to mimic silence. His expression bears the same knowing, slightly saddened smile as when Pete left over a week ago without much of an explanation. Whatever the merman knows, he won’t or can’t share it with Patrick.

“But why?” Patrick can’t help but ask, desperate for any sort of answer. “Why… Why are you human all of the sudden?”

Pete shakes his head. “I’m not really a human. I just have a human body now.”

The pedantic insistence on semantics doesn’t really explain anything, but it seems to be the only thing Pete is willing to reveal for now. It’s still all a lot to take in, and Patrick feels slightly overwhelmed by the whole situation. Nothing ever prepared him for even kissing a merman, let alone have one trade his tails for legs and then sit in his bathtub. Patrick takes a moment to reach out to Pete’s face, feel the sand and salt and the beginning of a stubble now growing on his cheeks. Pete grins as he leans into the touch, and Patrick wants to kiss him so badly, wants to touch more of him. It doesn’t feel appropriate, Pete’s new to all of this, a literal fish out of water, so Patrick just helps him clean himself and dry off afterwards. Although Pete looks almost offended when Patrick hands him a shirt and boxers, he puts the clothes on anyway (with some trial and error and explaining from Patrick about which limb goes through which hole).

Since Pete can’t walk, Patrick gathers him into his arms and carries him over to the bed. Teaching Pete how to walk is going to be his first priority tomorrow. On the mattress, Pete stretches his limbs, and he manages to sit up. He runs his hands over his thighs, clearly still fascinated, while Patrick watches in silence, unsure what to say or do.

“Do you like it?” Pete’s smiling, although there’s an edge of fear to it, the first sign of a struggle Pete has shown since Patrick found him with a pair of legs.

“I didn’t expect this.” Patrick gestures towards Pete’s legs. “You, getting legs… You’re so calm about it. You knew it would happen, didn’t you? Why didn’t you tell me?”

Again, Pete shakes his head and mimics silence. “I couldn’t. I’m not supposed to tell, and you’re… You’re not even supposed to know. No human is supposed to know. But...” He doesn’t finish the sentence. Instead, he slings his arms around his legs, rests his head on his knees. “Do you like it?” Pete repeats quietly, without a smile this time. His golden eyes, still the beautiful eyes of a merman, remain fixed on Patrick. “You haven’t said anything yet. You barely touched me. You didn’t even give me a welcome kiss. Do you – do you still like me?”

“Oh, Pete...” Patrick shifts closer to him, takes his hand. Absent the webbing between the fingers, they know look like normal human hands. Also gone is the smooth, streamline skin of a creature perfectly adapted to live under water, traded for the body hair of a terrestrial inhabitant.

“You promised,” Pete whispers in a shaky voice before Patrick can say anything, “you promised that you want to be with me.”

“And I meant it! Pete, I meant it – I _ still _ mean it! Seeing you turn human scared me. You’re so new to this world, you don’t know anyone besides me, hell, you can’t even walk, and I don’t want to take advantage of you. I want to kiss and touch you so badly, I just…” Patrick pauses, before he decides to give voice to his other big concern. “Pete, I wished for friendship, nothing more. Please, tell me you’re not doing this out of any obligations. You didn’t trade your tail for legs just because of a magical debt, right? I didn’t… I didn’t cause you to do something you’d regret, did I?”

“Sweet, silly little Patrick...” Pete’s expression softens. “You wished for friendship, and I granted you that wish. Anything else I give you, I give you of my own free will.”

That is all Patrick wished to hear, and gives him all the reassurance he needs to finally have the courage to sling his arms around Pete’s waist, and draw him into a deep kiss. It still tastes of the ocean, and the salt of Patrick’s tears.

Pete sleeps cuddled up to him as close as possible, head on Patrick’s chest, arms slung around him, their legs entangled. It’s no surprise he is tired after everything that happened, washing up on the beach, the first glimpse of the human world, the transformation his body went through. Patrick holds him tightly, as if Pete could slip back into the dark waters of the ocean the moment Patrick lets go of him, and wonders what tomorrow will bring them.

When Patrick wakes up, he can’t deny being relieved that Pete is still in his arms, safe and secure, with a pair of human legs. Or so he thinks, until Pete’s fingers dig into his shoulders until it hurts.

“Patrick,” he hears Pete say in a very quiet, scared voice, “Patrick, there’s… Something on the bed. It’s staring at us.” Patrick mumbles something as he rubs his eyes and reaches for his glasses. He wants to sit up, but Pete holds him back, voice low and his eyes fixed on the end of the bed. “Shh, don’t move. It’s clearly a predator.”

It takes a moment until Patrick’s eyes adjust to the dim morning light. At the end of the bed sits Miles, his bushy tail curled around his body, his green eyes looking at them like he’s offended or at least highly irritated that his usual place to nap is occupied by a stranger.

That stranger of course is Pete, who seems highly irritated as well, although more out of fear. Of course, Pete probably hasn’t seen a cat before, and well, Patrick has to admit that the giant Maine Coon glaring at them must be an impressive, if not terrifying sight to the poor merman.

“’s just Miles,” Patrick tries to explain, “it’s okay, he’s my cat. Ella must be around somewhere too… Don’t worry, they’re harmless.”

“Harmless,” Pete repeats incredulously without taking his eyes off Miles. Miles stares back, not bothering to move at all. “These predators, sitting on your bed, staring at us, are _ harmless_?”

“They’re my pets.” Patrick sighs, and finally, Pete relaxes enough to allow him to sit up. “I know, Miles can look scary, but I swear, he’s just a big ball of fur and he’s never hunted anything in his life except a can of food, perhaps.”

To prove his point, Patrick slowly extends his arm to the cat. Miles allows Patrick to pat him on the head exactly three times before his patience runs out, and he hops off the bed, abandoning the fight for his rightful sleeping place for potential food.

Pete looks entirely stunned as he watches the cat leave the room. “This – this cat-thing, it just ran away! What kind of predator is that?”

“A smart one,” Patrick says with a grin as he sits up, and holds out a hand to Pete. “He knows I’m about to feed him anyway. Let’s go and eat as well.”

It remains difficult for Pete to walk, although he is trying his best with his arm slung over Patrick’s shoulder, lower lip caught between his teeth, brows furrowed as he concentrates on carefully putting one foot in front of the other. It’s more stumbling than walking, but at least it confirms Pete’s legs are fully functional. He just has to learn how to use them.

Pete watches while Patrick feeds the cats. The moment he fills their feeding dishes, Ella loses her shyness and joins them in the kitchen. While the two cats are more interested in food than in the stranger intruding their home (some predators they make indeed!), Pete hasn’t lost his cautiousness completely. It’s clear he doesn’t quite trust the cats yet; he’s curious, but reserved.

Patrick wishes he had something better to offer for Pete’s first breakfast as a human than Cap’n Crunch. It’s not like Patrick can’t cook, it’s just that cooking for one person is so much work and so very depressing. Well, Patrick supposes that now with Pete at his side, he needs to put in more effort. After all, Pete depends on him (for now, at least), he doesn’t know the human world or how to make human food, let alone use an oven or a microwave.

They spend most of the morning with Pete trying to learn how to walk. He’s getting the hang of it pretty fast, although he’s still overly cautious and concentrated as he carefully puts one foot in front of the other. Hesitantly, almost.

“Pete, are you alright?” Patrick asks nervously as he stares at Pete’s legs, wondering if the merman’s body might still hurt from the transformation it underwent, or if despite the optics, Pete does not indeed have all the muscle mass to walk yet.

“Great,” Pete says through gritted teeth, “it’s just… difficult.” When he notices Patrick’s concerned looks, he goes for a grin. “Don’t worry. It’s just… No. I merely need time to get used to it, that’s all.”

Patrick chalks the strain in his voice up to exhaustion. Pete is pushing himself, but he’s determined, and by the time Patrick gets him to stop, Pete is sweaty but stumbling less as they head for the kitchen for lunch. Patrick produces the ingredients for a simple sandwich from his fridge, which Pete eats with great appetite. Patrick smiles to himself as he watches Pete devour the food – the merman has so much to learn about the human cuisine. So much yet to discover, for the both of them, and Patrick is both proud and happy to be the one at Pete’s side for all of it.

Once he’s more confident in his walking skills, Pete insists on exploring the house. He is careful and attentive as he does so, eyes darting from one curiosity to the next, and he’s quick to ask so many questions, Patrick barely has time to answer them all. Pete traces his fingers over everything, from the wallpaper to the wooden floor to the rough carpet. He carefully touches the guitar sitting next to Patrick’s bed, tugs a little at the strings and smiles when he hears them make a sound. The sea shell instrument on the table next to it though is eyed with a tinge of sadness as Pete traces his fingers over it. Pete doesn’t say anything, and Patrick thinks it’s best to leave it up to Pete to talk about his old memories.

Pete moves on, and he now taps his fingers against the porcelain bowls, the mirror, the glass windows.

“You have hardened water as well?” Pete asks as he inspects the window more closely.

“Hardened water?” Patrick repeats confused. He knows the sub-oceanic cultures have their own techniques and science, different from humans, and it’s going to be confusing sometimes. “No, it’s glass. I… I guess it’s hardened sand?”

“Sand? What weird creatures you are, and what quirky ideas you have!” Pete sounds amused as he knocks against the window once more, hard enough to make Patrick hurry over to him to stop Pete from accidentally breaking the glass and hurting himself.

“You need to be careful,” he explains to a surprised Pete, “this is some antique stuff, it could break and hurt you.”

Pete looks even more surprised. “Break?” He repeats, stunned. “Glass breaks this easily? You humans willingly surround yourself with danger all the time?”

“Uh, not – not really?” Patrick sighs. He kind of has to admit the merman has a point. “Glass doesn’t break _ that _ easily. Just… Don’t smash a window, and don’t let any of the glasses for drinks fall to the floor. Oh, and the white stuff, the porcelain, it breaks even more easily.”

Pete just shakes his head, and says nothing. When he walks over to sit down on the bed, he looks exhausted. It might take a while to adjust to the strain that walking puts on his body, not to mention he has to take in all these new information. The two Maine Coons slip back into the bedroom, eager to reclaim the bed for their nap time. It seems they have accepted Pete into their home, because they don’t mind his presence, and don’t care that he is sitting on the bed as well. Miles and Ella just curl up on the end of the bed, unbothered by Pete’s presence or the wary look he sends them.

Pete remains silent, but he does allow Patrick to sit down next to him, and eventually, they end up laying next to each other, with Pete as the big spoon clinging to Patrick.

Patrick lets him, just takes Pete’s hand, and sighs in contentment whenever Pete presses small kisses to his neck. He knows Pete is thinking about something, but whatever it is, he’s not ready to share it with Patrick.

In the evening, they visit the beach. Pete doesn’t ask, but Patrick still silently offers his arm, and Pete clings to it for support as they slowly walk over the sandbanks. The sea is calm, a stretch of glittery turquoise. When the waves hit their feet, Pete rejoices, he lets go of Patrick’s arm as he laughs, and Patrick can’t stop him from stepping into the water, and gracelessly diving into it.

Just a moment later, Patrick catches up to Pete, and yanks him out of the water. Pete is struggling against Patrick’s tight grip, coughing up saltwater as he tries to protest. Luckily, Patrick manages to hold him back from another attempt of diving into the ocean.

“What is this,” Pete finally says in a raspy voice, before coughing again. “You told me humans can swim, Patrick. _ You _ can swim, and you weren’t even a merman, so why, why can’t I!?”

“Humans can swim,” Patrick mumbles as he pats Pete’s back, his guilty conscience only intensifying as he scolds himself for not having made the matter more clear to the unassuming merman. “We can swim, Pete. But it doesn’t really come natural, it’s not an instinct. We have to learn it.”

Pete scoffs scornfully, and shakes off Patrick’s concerned hand on his shoulder. Usually, he’d flick his tail and splash Patrick with water to show his disapproval. In lieu of a tail, Pete resorts to stomping his foot. “I, _ a merman_, have to learn how to swim?!”

Helplessly, Patrick shrugs. “Well, you have a human body now, so… Yes. You’ll need to learn how to use it.”

Pete doesn’t answer, just stares into the distance, the far wide of the deep ocean he can no longer call his habitat. What Patrick sees in Pete’s grim expression is not necessarily regret, but the realization that this is going to be much harder than anticipated. Pete turns around, reaches for Patrick’s arm to support himself. They don’t talk as they walk back.

Life goes on strangely normal, given that Patrick suddenly has a merman-turned-human boyfriend living with him. There are still all these ordinary things that have to be done: there are two cats to feed, meals to cook, the house needs to be vacuumed (although at first, Pete is as scared of the vacuum cleaner as the cats), Patrick has to teach Pete how to shave, and the lighthouse is still open to the public, meaning Patrick has to work. During his lunch break, Patrick signs Pete up for swimming lessons online, and introduces Pete to Andy.

While Andy does make a slightly disapproving face when Patrick stammers his way through an explanation of why he suddenly has a strange guy living with him, he thankfully doesn’t ask too many questions. He simply compliments Pete on his tattoos, and Patrick hurries to assure that yes, of course, Pete’s sharp teeth are the result of his love for body modifications. Pete, while curious, doesn’t talk too much. Patrick thinks it’s less shyness, and more a lack of courage given how little Pete knows about humans.

During the less crowded hours – not that too many people ever find their way here – Patrick takes Pete on a tour through the lighthouse. Once Pete is over his initial disappointed that so many things need to be kept behind glass and out of his (or anyone’s) reach, he fully embraces the experience. Pete laughs at the mannequins with their strange, old-fashioned clothes, makes Patrick explain all the technical equipment, stares at everything with fascination as they walk around. Had the museum been bigger, Patrick is sure they would’ve spent three days exploring every little corner in detail without Pete ever getting tired of it. Except for several breaks to sit, Pete has limitless energy and an insatiable appetite for knowledge about the strange world he joined.

That’s why in the afternoon, Patrick takes him to the Pacific beach.

It’s an adventure for the both of them, for sure. Pete hasn’t seen any other humans really, let alone a large gathering of them. But the merman is curious, and Patrick thinks it's safe to introduce him to the world in a larger crowd, where Pete has a chance to marvel at anything and anyone, while the two of them won’t attract much attention amongst all the other people.

What they both quickly learn is that Pete gets really, really carsick. Maybe it’s because he’s not used to the sensation, or because merfolk may have a problem with that transportation in general, he throws up several times during their ride and once they finally arrive, he declares he doesn’t like cars at all. His outrage is quickly calmed when they take their first few steps to the beach promenade, and Pete’s attention is redirected to the many, many attractions it has to offer to an excited merman.

Once more, Patrick has a lot to explain, and has to answer a never-ending stream of questions. It’s nice to see Pete so chatty and excited though; ever since he took the merman-turned-human in, Patrick has been silently afraid that perhaps, Pete won’t like the human world. That maybe, Pete will find it all terrifying, or boring, or simply too strange and foreign for his taste. That maybe, the merman-turned-human grows to regret his choice.

So far, Pete enjoys himself, even though he eyes the people swimming in the ocean with a certain jealousy. But he’s happy to walk on the beach, sand beneath his naked feet (shoes, as pretty as he finds them, are definitely something Pete doesn’t like to wear), the waves wetting his legs. The ice cream Patrick bought him is half melted already, which doesn’t bother Pete at all. His other hand is holding Patrick’s, fingers laced together, and Pete either doesn't notice or doesn’t care about the occasional odd look they get.

“Looking at everyone else… I noticed I’m quite small,” Pete says almost angrily when they sit down at a bench to take a break. He stretches out his legs, stares at them like perhaps they’ll grow a little more if he just stretches them hard enough.

“You’re fine. I’d say we are merely a little below average.” Patrick looks down at his own short legs, and hey, he can almost believe what he’s saying.

Apparently, Pete isn’t too convinced. He merely scoffs, stretching out his legs once more. “I’ll let you know, I had a very long and very beautiful tail. These pitiful human legs don’t reflect that.”

“I don’t care what other people’s legs look like, okay? And you shouldn’t either. Your legs are fine. They’re beautiful and perfectly functional and I adore them.” To prove his point, Patrick puts his hand on Pete’s thigh, and smiles at him.

Pete sighs, but he puts his hand on Patrick’s, ice cream-sticky fingers lacing together with his. “I like yours, too.”

Patrick ends up carrying Pete most of the way back to their car. Pete is exhausted, and Patrick can’t resist the big eyes he makes as he asks for what Patrick explains is called a piggyback-ride. He somehow has the feeling Pete will remember that word, because Pete greatly enjoys the ride.

For today, they can live in their happy little bubble, the beautiful sunset spilling red and golden light over everything, the ocean whispering as the waves roll up to the beach.

The next big step is the swimming lessons.

Just like yesterday, Patrick has to pull over three times on their way and there’s absolutely nothing left in Pete’s stomach when they finally arrive. Despite that, Pete insists he is well enough to go to class.

As it turns out, Pete doesn't like the public pool at all.

“The water hurts,” Pete hisses as he rubs over his eyes and flinches when that only worsens the problem. “It hurts, Patrick. And it smells weird. What is this? The human attempt on freshwater?”

“It’s probably the chlorine. The chemical to keep the water clean.” Patrick decides it might be best to bite back a comment about what else might be in the pool water, from sweat to pee to things he’d rather not think of. “I’m sorry, most pools don’t have saltwater. We’re just here to teach you how to swim, then we can get back to swimming in the ocean, okay?”

Pete scoffs, and crosses his arms in front of his chest. Around them are a group of three kids and two teens, all here to learn how to swim. Pete is the only adult, and he sticks out like a sore thumb. With his dark skin, the weird tattoos, the intricately braided and decorated hairstyle and his casual mentioning of humans and the merfolk, he could be seen as suspicious. But this was the cheapest and most easily accessible swimming class with the shortest wait list, and thankfully, the instructor seems too busy reigning in on the kids to notice there’s something off about the adult participant.

With a frown, Pete tugs at his wet swim trunks – they were too small for Patrick, yet are still too big for Pete. Patrick makes a mental note to get Pete his own pair, and maybe some diving goggles. Pete still has the pretty eyes of a merman, and sadly, they seem to be incompatible with the public pool water they’re standing in.

“Do your best,” Patrick says, because he can’t really think of anything else. “I’m right here if you need me.”

By right here, Patrick means the corner next to the swimming pool designated for worried parents, or, well, worried guys watching as their merman-turned-human boyfriend re-learns how to swim. Pete looks slightly overwhelmed, but his determination to reclaim his ability to swim with this new body outweighs everything else. He simply nods, and then turns around to go join the group in the pool.

On the drive back home, Pete looks a little happier, even though he vomits up bile and chlorinated pool water twice.

Despite the exhaustion of a long day, neither of them feels like sleeping when they lay in bed together. For the first time since he came out of the water, Pete asks Patrick to play him a little song on the guitar, listens fascinated as Patrick follows his request. This time, Pete picks up the spiral conch, even plays around with it a little, showing off the strange but beautiful sounds its capable of. There’s a little bit of what looks like home-sickness in Pete’s pretty eyes, but it vanishes when the instruments are safely tucked away, and Pete pulls Patrick in for a kiss.

On the bed now, Pete drags him closer until Patrick straddles his lap. With slight hesitation, Patrick follows Pete’s example and takes off his shirt. But like always, there’s nothing except raw want in Pete’s eyes as he looks at Patrick, and he moans when Patrick puts a hand on Pete’s chest, trails down to his groin, hesitates.

“Don’t stop,” Pete whines, irritated when Patrick doesn’t resume touching him. His fingers dig into Patrick’s thighs, and so does his growing hard-on.

Now may be a good time to talk about sex.

Hesitantly, Patrick climbs off Pete’s lap again, and slings his arms around his legs in an attempt to hide his own erection. As much as he wants Pete, he wants to make sure whatever they are doing is not only consensual, but happening at a pace that Pete can understand as well. He has no idea what the merman knows, let alone has done already.

Pete sits up a little, palms himself through his pants, the irritation in his expression traded for insecurity.

“You did nothing wrong,” Patrick hurries to assure him. “It’s just… We should talk before we do anything.”

“Talk,” Pete echoes, then sighs. “What is it you want to talk about?”

After an awkward moment of silence, Patrick clears his throat, and stammers: “Pete, uhm… Do you have any experience?”

“Experience?” Pete looks at him like that’s an entirely unreasonable question. “I’ve mated before, sure.”

“You can just say sex. Or fucking. Anything, please.” Patrick cringes as he pinches the bridge of his nose. “_Mate _makes it sound like you’re an animal.”

“Well, I’m sorry for not knowing all the fine distinction in your language.” Pete makes a face at him, then says: “Fine. I’ve had sex before, then. For pleasure, not for procreation. The merfolk isn’t too different from humans, I suppose. Although our genitals don’t just… _ Dangle _ out in the open.”

“Hey, that’s why we wear clothes.”

Pete looks like he wants to debate that issue further. Instead, he asks: “Do you self-lubricate?”

“Do I _ what_? No,” Patrick says, red-faced and embarrassed, “no, we don’t. We – Men don’t. I mean, not in that area.”

Pete stares at him. Patrick stares back. “You wanted to talk,” Pete reminds him with the tiniest bit of a mischievous grin, “well then, tell me about the human way of having sex.”

Occasionally, Pete nods, unaffected by Patrick’s embarrassment as he stutters through further explanations and improvised sex ed. From what Patrick can gather, the merfolk is indeed not too different, on the basics at least.

And yet, Patrick feels the need to be extra careful. Whatever they do, it will be Pete’s first time as a human, in a different environment, with a strange body – two strange bodies for the former merman, counting Patrick’s. This has to be done right. This has to be good for Pete, because Patrick could never forgive himself if he hurt the merman in any way, if he made him feel strange or unwelcome or, well, unsatisfied in any regard.

Although this had to be the least erotic talk about sex Patrick’s had since actual sex ed back in school, Pete doesn’t seem to mind the awkwardness. He simply kisses Patrick until he eases up, and lets Pete straddle his lap.

“I’ve been waiting to touch you like this for so long,” Pete whispers as he leaves a trail of kisses on Patrick’s neck, “I’ve wanted this so much…”

“Me too,” Patrick whispers back, “I was just scared that a beautiful merman like you could never want a boring human like me...”

“Hush! To me, you look marvelous.” Pete stops kissing him, leans back a little to look Patrick in the eye. “I wasn’t sure if you liked me either. How could a human ever desire someone as strange as a merman…?” He pauses, shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter. I have a body like yours now, there is nothing to be afraid of anymore.”

“Afraid?” Patrick repeats nervously, “is that why you became human? Because you were afraid?”

Pete furrows his brows, shakes his head again. “No. I wanted us to be together. Since you can never become a merman, I wanted to join you in the world of the humans. And... No matter the difficulties, I don’t regret it.”

“You’ll stay like this, right?” Patrick asks anxiously. “You’ll stay human, right?”

“The trade was final. My decision is irreversible...” Pete pauses for a second, but then shakes his head. “No. I will stay human forever.”

Just as Patrick thinks they can go back to kissing, Pete whispers: “But what if I didn’t…?”

“I don’t know,” Patrick confesses, “I guess we would find a way around it, and still…?” He feels himself blush, but it’s probably true. And either way, Pete has kept some of the merman traits, like the gorgeous golden eyes or slightly too big, too sharp teeth. A hint of delightful perversion might still be there, and Patrick can’t deny his attraction to it.

Amused, Pete reveals said big white teeth in a big grin. “You’d still desire me?”

Patrick wonders if Pete is going to learn about spontaneous human combustion in the next few seconds as he answers: “Maybe? Probably. Is that so weird? You desired me despite me not being one of your kind, did you not?”

Pete’s grin widens. “Oh, I’m not judging.”

Patrick smiles back weakly. “We should talk less, and make out more...”

Thankfully, Pete agrees with him on that. All troubles are forgotten when Pete leans in to kiss him again, then motions Patrick to lay down. “This is so weird,” Pete chuckles as he leans forward, “all these legs and all this gravity, this isn’t what I’m used to...”

“You don’t have to,” Patrick mumbles, not even sure what exactly he is objecting, “you don’t need to do anything...”

“I know,” Pete simply says, and then his mouth finds the curve of Patrick’s neck once more. This time, Pete trails down further, kisses Patrick’s collarbone, sucks at his nipples, licks over Patrick’s belly. “Let me,” Pete demands breathlessly, “I’ve wanted to taste you since forever...”

Whatever rational thoughts Patrick might have had, they go out the window when he hears Pete utter these words. Pete _ wants _ him, Pete knows what he’s doing and what this means, there’s no reason to worry.

So, Patrick focuses on the pleasure instead.

Every little kiss leaves Patrick’s skin burning, leaves him aching for more. Pete’s braids tickle him as they brush over his body, and the touch of his fingers trailing down to Patrick’s crotch leaves him breathless. After some trial and error, Pete manages to get Patrick’s pants off, and when Pete’s hand finally finds his dick, Patrick’s can’t help but gasp. This is so much better than any forbidden dream Patrick has ever had about them being together, this is real, Pete is touching him, kissing him, and when he bows down to lick a stripe over Patrick’s hard cock, Patrick can’t even be bothered to worry about the merman-turned-human’s slightly inhuman teeth getting this close to his dick.

Pete’s mouth is hot and wet, his broad tongue trailing over the underside of Patrick’s dick, his hand keeping it in a tight grip. Pete’s other hand is on Patrick’s thigh, nudging him to spread his legs a little more. What Pete lacks in experience with handling his (and other) human bodies during sex, he makes up for in determination. Patrick can’t resist the temptation to look at Pete, reach out a hand and run his thumb over Pete’s lips stretched around his cock. He doesn't dare to fist his hands into Pete’s hair, doesn't want anything rough. There’s a mischievous sparkle in Pete’s golden eyes, before he takes Patrick in even further and then all Patrick is capable of anymore is to moan loudly.

Through the haze of his arousal, Patrick manages to stutter a warning that he’s about to come, but Pete just keeps going, tongue licking over sensitive flesh, lips framing Patrick’s cock, one hand digging into the back of Patrick’s thighs; he’s so damn beautiful, and he feels so fucking good. Patrick comes with a loud cry, hands clutching the sheets, and he’s sure he can see stars – or maybe, the depth of the ocean.

Pete licks his lips, then smiles as him, and Patrick falls even more in love with the merman. A moment later, Pete sits up and leans over him, hand on his hard cock. Patrick gently pushes it away, takes Pete’s dick into his own hands, determined to be the one to get him off. Pete makes the sweetest sounds while Patrick jerks him off, although he lasts for about half a minute at best before spilling all over Patrick’s tummy.

Unbothered by the spit and sweat and semen between their bodies, Pete cuddles up to him, sighs with happiness. For a while, neither of them speak. Patrick just slings an arm around Pete, feels the heat of his body, muscles working under the inked skin, marvels how he gets to hold Pete like that. Pete said he doesn’t regret turning human, and Patrick swears to himself he will never give him a reason to. Whatever happens, Patrick is going to keep the promise he gave the merman when they first kissed. Whatever hardship, they’ll face it together.

Pete’s voice tears him out of these romantic and heroic thoughts. “Humans taste different,” Pete concludes after licking his lips once more, and Patrick can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of their situation. “But… What I did for you, you’ll do for me too, right?”

“What? Blow you?” Patrick smiles to himself. “Of course I will, Pete.”

“Blow me?” Pete furrows his brows. “I didn’t blow.”

Patrick laughs again, and presses a kiss to Pete’s forehead. “That’s just what we call it, y’know. It’s a blowjob. Well, I guess it would also be correct to say you sucked my dick… Let’s just agree that language is arbitrary and contradictory sometimes.”

“Well, _ your _ language is,” Pete says snobbishly. “Us merfolk, we only have the most beautiful and poetic words to describe our lovemaking...”

Pete takes a deep breath, opens his mouth as if to speak; only that no sound comes out of it. Before Patrick can ask if he as a human was just unable to pick up on the frequencies of the merfolk’s language, Pete jolts up, a hand on his throat, eyes widened with terror.

Now, Patrick sits up as well, scared as he watches Pete open and close his mouth with nothing but a few grunts coming out. “What’s the matter, Pete? Are you alright?”

Pete stares at him, wide-eyed and with quivering lips, hand still on his throat. “No, I’m not,” he whispers, seemingly surprised when he hears his own voice. “No, I’m not – oh, this can’t be true! I can speak your language, but not mine anymore?!” Patrick watches helplessly as Pete makes some more fruitless attempts to speak in the merfolk’s tongue, and even though Patrick knows close to nothing about their language, he knows whatever Pete manages to blurt out, it’s not the language of his people.

Finally, Pete just presses his lips together, and heavy silence lingers between them.

“I was warned,” Pete whispers after a while, and he sounds resigned and sad. “I was warned that I were to lose my voice, but… I thought those were just tales from the Elders, meant to scare us. After all, when I emerged from the waters with a human body, I was still able to talk to you, speak the human languages...” Pete trails off, shakes his head. “But the old tales were right. I can’t speak my native tongue anymore – so in the end, I _ did _ lose my voice.”

“I’m so sorry,” Patrick whispers back, because he doesn't know what else to say. If there even is anything appropriate to say in a situation like this.

“It’s not your fault, so don’t be sorry.” Pete sighs deeply, rubs away a traitorous tear threatening to fall from his eyes. “I knew my actions would have consequences. And the two of us can still talk to each other, so I didn’t lose my voice completely. Let’s not dwell on it, okay? I didn’t mean to ruin the mood.”

“You didn’t ruin anything.” Patrick takes Pete’s hand, relieved when Pete lets him. As grim as Pete looks, Patrick thinks it best to respect Pete’s wish, and change the subject. When, or _ if _ Pete wants to talk, Patrick will listen.

They take a shower together. Pete is mostly quiet, clings to Patrick as much as he can, and insists on a piggy-back ride back to bed. There, they are joined by Miles and Ella, who meow in disapproval for having been locked out of the bedroom for so long. The two Maine Coons curl up at the end of the bed, and Pete doesn’t cuddle up to Patrick like he usually does. It’s a difficult situation to be in for Pete, he’s in a foreign environment where he knows no one aside from Patrick, and he couldn’t even properly communicate with anyone from the merfolk anymore. Patrick sighs, and makes a mental note that they both need to be a little more social. He’ll ask Pete if he is up for company once Pete’s in a better mood.

For now, Patrick sends Pete a reassuring smile, and says: “Just so you know: If you had lost your voice completely, I would’ve learned sign language for you.”

That brings a small smile to Pete’s face as well. “I know you would,” he mumbles as he takes Patrick’s hand again, laces their fingers together. It’s a gesture Pete enjoys a lot, Patrick noticed. They couldn’t do this back when Pete was a merman – the webbing between his fingers made it impossible. “I know you would, because you have a good heart. If not, I wouldn’t have fallen in love with you.”

Patrick’s heart skips a beat when Pete says love. “You have a good heart as well,” he hurries to say, tongue almost tripping over the words, “and out of all the things you ever gave me, it’s the most precious gift I could’ve ever hoped for. I’m so happy that not only did I get the chance to fall in love with you, but that you returned my feelings...”

“We make an odd couple,” Pete says with a soft chuckle, “an odd couple with a weird story. But I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

He leans in to give Patrick a good-night kiss, and when Patrick falls asleep, Pete is still holding his hand.

After their solo trip to the Pacific beach and another swimming lesson, Pete says he is ready to meet more of Patrick’s fellow humans. Patrick asks Joe if he wants to meet up, and asks Pete to please stop referring to other people as humans, lest someone starts to get suspicious.

Joe is chill guy who isn’t one to ask questions anyway. Despite everything, Pete is neither reclusive nor scared to meet new people; the merman has a more extroverted personality than Patrick assumed at first. Now that there is no more fear of being hunted, being gawked at, or whatever else the tales of the merfolk may have told him would happen, Pete is more open and talkative. Patrick is very happy about that, because one boyfriend and two cats won’t be enough support for the former merman to build a life on land.

They’re at Pacific Beach again, at a small beach bar, surrounded by all the other people enjoying a beautiful summer afternoon.

“I finally get to meet the mysterious boyfriend! Where are you from?” Joe asks now, arm already thrown over Pete’s shoulder.

“Jamaica,” Pete dutifully repeats – from what Patrick could gather, Pete is indeed born somewhere close there, but they both agree that Pete can’t exactly tell everyone that he was born in the depths of the Caribbean Sea. They also agreed that Pete needed a last name, and settled on Wentz because Patrick remembers driving through a Wentzville when he came to San Diego, and Pete had liked that name.

“And how’d you meet?”

“The internet,” Patrick offers lamely, before he redirects the conversation to actual surfing. Pete has asked about it when they last went to the beach, obviously interested in any sports that can be done in the water, and Joe is just the right person to explain it to a wide-eyed, curious Pete.

It all goes surprisingly well. Pete is having fun as he listens to Joe, and he gladly accepts the offer to be taught some surfing lessons by Joe. Patrick interjects that Pete needs to properly learn how to swim first, but Joe promises to be responsible, and he promises to find Pete a nice and calm stretch of the beach to practice some swimming outside of the dreaded public pool. Pete smiles as he sips on a virgin cocktail (Patrick thought it best to keep the merman away from alcohol for now, there are enough new things to take in already), and while he can’t contribute much to Patrick’s and Joe’s heated discussion about music, he still seems to enjoy just being out and social.

What keeps Patrick worried is that walking doesn’t appear to get easier for the former merman. Even though his legs can carry him, walking still puts a strain on Pete’s new body. Pete never complains, but Patrick can see it in the way Pete furrows his brows and presses his lips together to stop himself from sighing, like he sometimes does when he thinks Patrick can’t hear him. While Pete doesn’t trip or stumble anymore, he always walks slowly, almost hesitant, and whenever Patrick offers him his arm (the only help Pete will accept), Pete holds on so tightly, it borders on painful.

And for sure, halfway through their little walk on the beach, Pete asks Patrick to carry him. Joe offers his services as well, jovial and good-natured that he is, but Patrick still makes a mental note to keep an eye on it.

Since Pete can’t participate in surfing yet, he turns to all the music Patrick and Joe talked about. Patrick watches with a smile as Pete goes through the vinyl-collection that Patrick insisted on dragging cross-country over 2000 miles with him. Pete obviously enjoys himself as he carefully, with Patrick’s help, puts on any of the vinyls that catches his attention for some reason, and Pete just has this ability to spread joy. Whenever Pete grins, Patrick can’t help but grin, too, and whenever Pete laughs or happily sings along (terribly), Patrick can’t help but fall in love with the merman even more.

They end up on the old couch, making out as David Bowie plays in the background. Pete’s legs are bracketing Patrick’s hips, his hands on Patrick’s waist, his big brown eyes looking at Patrick with so many conflicting emotions at once.

“You good?” Patrick asks, his lips ghosting over Pete’s. He can feel Pete’s arousal, the way his fingers are clutching into his waist, the heated kisses they just exchanged, the growing hard-on between Pete’s legs. But there’s a hint of insecurity in Pete’s expression, a slightly furrowed brow, and his legs dig into Patrick’s hips in an almost uncomfortable manner.

“It just feels a little weird,” Pete mumbles, his hands trailing down to his own spread legs. “This… this is not what I’m used to. It’s different and it makes me feel vulnerable.”

“Hey, that’s okay. It’s fine,” Patrick hurries to assure Pete as he sits up. “We can stop anytime you want.”

Pete reaches out for him, ruffles through Patrick’s thin hair. “I don’t want to stop, though. Do something, anything, just… Be slow. Ugh, that’s silly, isn’t it? I feel like a fledgling again...”

“It’s not silly.” Patrick leans in to brush a kiss to Pete’s pouting lips, and refrains from telling him that fledgling isn’t an appropriate term for anyone but animals. “And I’m new to this, too. Well, I mean… New to sleeping with a former merman.”

Pete furrows his brows even further. “If I’m not mistaken, I have spent numerous nights here already, and we slept together on each of them. Wait, is this another weird language quirk…?”

Patrick laughs, kisses him once more, and then tries to explain the meaning of the phrase to a slightly confused Pete (who still insists that the merfolk is much more poetic in describing love). Either way, Patrick’s explanation satisfies Pete, and he’s even more satisfied when Patrick stops talking to go down on him.

There is some routine in their life now. Get up together, have breakfast, feed the cats, kiss Patrick goodbye for work. Pete is brave enough to venture to the beach near the lighthouse by himself now, and he does make good on his promise to not try and swim all by himself without supervision, no matter how much it makes the merman grit his sharp teeth in frustration. Eat together, laugh together, show Pete the human world – he just discovered funny animal videos on the internet, which greatly entertain him. He makes Patrick search for more puppy compilations for hours, and when they browse Netflix, Pete makes him choose one of the BBC documentaries about planet earth. While Pete listens to the soothing voice of David Attenborough with endless amazement, Patrick smiles to himself and makes a mental note to take Pete to the San Diego zoo one day.

Pete makes Patrick sing along to whatever record he excitedly decides to put on, and insists that with a pretty voice like his, Patrick should read him some stories. So, Patrick sings, and he ends up reading The Little Mermaid fairytale to Pete, who listens with big eyes, occasionally shaking his head, although he stays surprisingly quiet. There’s something in the story that bothers Pete, that much Patrick can tell. Maybe it reminds him of the tales of his own folk, or Pete isn’t happy with any misrepresentation of the merfolk in it. Whatever it is, Pete stays tight-lipped, and Patrick doesn't think much of it. Eventually, Pete and him do watch the Disney movie, which strangely enough, Pete seems to like a lot more. It might be the colorful animation and great music, or the more hopeful tone that touches the former merman more than he’d like to admit.

Now that Pete has lost his initial fear, Miles and Ella have decided that they do love him, and must beg him for attention, cuddles, and to be pet at any occasion. The two giant Maine Coons also decided that aside from the bed, Pete’s lap is the best place to nap on. Pete seems very happy with that, and Patrick is only the tiniest bit irrationally jealous that the cats like Pete more than him – perhaps, they still haven’t forgiven Patrick for his initial dislike towards them. Or maybe, they just like Pete because he used to resemble a fish, and they confuse him for food.

(“Mermen aren’t fish,” Pete always insists, “and I’m not a fish out of water, either – wouldn’t a fish out of water just die? I feel very much alive.”

Patrick always smiles, and presses a kiss to Pete’s frown.)

Dried saltwater, drops of sweat, flesh against flesh. Heated kisses and shared body warmth as they lay in bed together, the light of the moon flooding the room with silver.

Sitting on the rocks where they used to meet, legs in the water, they’ve watched the sunset on the beach, with Patrick, a city kid at heart, once more marveling at the beautiful clear view of stars they have. Pete had smiled, and then taken Patrick’s arm, whispering they should go home and enjoy another beautiful view.

“You’re so pretty,” Pete is whispering now as he leans over Patrick, one hand pinching Patrick’s nipple into stiffness, two fingers of his other hand buried inside of Patrick’s ass already. Just yesterday, Patrick has introduced him to lube and finding one’s prostate, and once Pete was able to speak after the orgasm Patrick gave him, he promised to return the favor.

Instead of an answer, Patrick just moans; damnit, Pete is really good at this, slow but sensual, and it hasn’t taken him long to find Patrick’s prostate. The pads of Pete’s fingers rub over it once more, making Patrick throw his head back as another deep moan escapes his lips. This is so, so good.

But Patrick wants more.

“So, so pretty,” he hears Pete coo, “all the stars in the sky, and you’re still the most beautiful view I’ve had today...”

When Pete leans forward for another kiss, Patrick pulls him closer, and whispers: “I want everything tonight, Pete...”

In response, Pete kisses him, crooks his fingers just right until he once more has Patrick writhing and whining underneath him. “So do I,” Pete groans as he kisses another moan off Patrick’s quivering lips. Then, he withdraws his fingers and Patrick sits up, motions Pete to lay on his back. He knows how he wants to do this, he’s fantasized about it so much, and Pete looks more than happy to go along with Patrick’s plan. Patrick reaches for the lube, generously slicks up Pete’s dick, smiling to himself when it makes Pete moan with pleasure.

A moment later, Patrick straddles Pete’s lap, one hand on Pete’s chest to balance himself, the other positioning Pete’s dick against his wet, stretched entrance. Slowly, Patrick slides down, gasping at the sensation, the delightful burn of the stretch, the feeling of being filled up by a thick, hard cock. Underneath him, Pete doesn't move, just holds on to Patrick’s thighs, looks at him with those big, beautiful eyes full of lust and love.

All Patrick can do is to hold still as he breathes hard, lips brushing over Pete’s, thighs shaking a little; adjusting physically and emotionally to _ Pete, _ the merman-turned-human that he fell in love with so much, finally being inside of him takes time.

“You feel so good,” Pete murmurs sweetly into Patrick’s ear, hands trailing from Patrick’s thighs over his waist, chest, up to his face, leaving goosebumps all over Patrick’s body. He cups Patrick’s face in his hands, thumb gliding over Patrick’s lower lip, before Pete draws him in for more kissing. After a while, Patrick feels confident to sit up a little, hands on Pete’s toned chest to steady himself as he starts to move.

The exquisite drag of Pete’s cock inside of him as he slides up, the way it nudges his prostate when he slides back down, Pete’s breathy little gasps, the taste of ocean salt and Pete’s kisses, the musky smell of sweat and sex – it is the perfect symphony for the senses, an utterly delectable delight, an exhilarating experience like Patrick has never had before. Because no one else was Pete.

Pete’s right hand trails down again, fingers tracing over the length of Patrick’s dick, making him shiver with the need for more.

It doesn't take long for them to build a rhythm, rolling their hips in sync, one of Pete’s hands working Patrick’s cock, the other holding onto his waist, fingers digging into pale flesh, sure to leave a mark. Each wave of pleasure drives Patrick closer to the edge, the dawn of his orgasm burning low in his belly, so tantalizingly close.

“Patrick,” he hears Pete say in a low, shaky voice, “Patrick, careful, I can’t hold back much longer...”

Pete is gently trying to push Patrick off his cock, which is very considerate, but not what Patrick wants.

“No, it’s fine, come in me,” Patrick utters breathlessly, “if you – if you want that, too...”

Pete manages to bring out a strained chuckle and something that resembles a nod, before he throws his head back again, moaning loudly. He looks so gorgeous like that, Patrick wishes he could make this moment last forever. But then, Pete thrusts his hips up one last time, the whisper of Patrick’s name on his pretty lips as he comes deep inside of him.

Patrick is so desperate and so damn close, a litany of _ PetePetePete _ being the only thing he is able to say anymore.

Thankfully, he knows Pete is not one to be selfish. Pete’s hand on his cock is trembling a little, his movements a bit erratic, but it still only takes a few more strokes until Patrick is coming as well, coating Pete’s hand and tummy with white as he cries out Pete’s name one last time.

For a while, neither of them speaks; Patrick is still breathing hard, smiling at Pete with utter adoration while Pete looks back at him with a beaming grin and sheer bliss in his golden eyes. Then, Patrick lets Pete’s softening cock slide out of him as he leans forward, his lips brushing over Pete’s temple.

Three simple words come so naturally to him, as if Patrick had just waited his whole life to say them. “I love you,” he whispers into Pete’s ear, and he almost loses his balance when in response, Pete slings his arms around him, laughs his ugly yet enchanting laugh as he drags Patrick next to him on the mattress so they face each other.

“I love you too,” Pete says with great excitement a big, toothy grin, “I love you, Patrick! I’ve been meaning to say this for a while now, I just – I wasn’t sure when you humans consider such confessions to be appropriate...”

Now, Patrick laughs as well, he doesn’t even care that he’s red-faced and sweaty and leaking jizz all over the sheets as he leans in to press a kiss to Pete’s lips. “You can say it whenever you want, Pete.”

“Good, because I want to say it a lot,” Pete declares with an adorable sincerity in his voice, before he draws Patrick into one more kiss.

As much as he enjoys the cuddles, Patrick does insists on a shower. Pete insists they take one together, and as much as he enjoys his personal space, Patrick can’t say no to Pete when he puts on that big pout and pleading look in his eyes. Pete hums tunelessly while he thoroughly rubs more scented body wash over Patrick’s skin than necessary, but who is Patrick to complain when something as harmless and simple as the foam and the artificial smell of strawberries make Pete so happy?

Back in bed, Patrick is laying in Pete’s embrace; Patrick is sated and happy and in love, and he’s never slept better than tonight.

A piece of their shared paradise is lost the very next day. It starts harmlessly, with Patrick is sitting on the couch. For once, Miles has decides that he’s a good enough second-rate choice for a place to nap.

As Pete is about to change records, Patrick looks at the big Maine Coon sleeping draped over his thighs, and proposes: “We should listen to some Miles Davis. After all, I named the cat after him.” Patrick grins as he pets the cat, holding back all the other nerdy facts he could share about highly influential 20th century musicians. One at a time.

For a moment, it looks like Pete wants to say something. He doesn’t, he just turns to the shelves that host Patrick’s extensive record collection, hand hovering in the air, ready to grab the requested vinyl. “I can’t find that one,” he says as he stares at the records on the shelves, brows furrowed.

“Check again. It has to be there. it’s all sorted alphabetically.” Patrick knows they’re sorted alphabetically, he’s personally made sure of it, he has sorted and put back every record himself every time they listened to music, and he even has the hipster wooden dividers showing the letters for easier access.

“I can’t find it,” Pete insists with an uncalled amount of anger in his voice. “Come and find it yourself, if it’s that important to you.”

Now, Patrick is irritated as well, both because his meticulous organization of records is questioned, and because of the sharp undertone in Pete’s voice. All he did was to as Pete to play a certain record. With a sigh, Patrick pushes Miles off his lap, ignoring the angry meowing he gets in response. He walks over to the shelf, and it takes him about four seconds to find the vinyl and shove it into Pete’s hands, just to prove his point. Weirdly enough, the expected anger in return from Pete never happens; Pete just looks at him with wide eyes and a hint of nervousness.

“I didn’t see it there,” Pete says innocuously, clutching the vinyl in his hands.

“It was right where it belonged,” Patrick says stubbornly, pointing at the little wooden divider displaying the letter _ M _. Pete stares at the letter Patrick is pointing at, then at him. Patrick stares back as uncomfortable silence settles between them. Pete opens his mouth, but he doesn’t say anything, there’s no angry remark and no lighthearted excuse, and with each second, realization dawns on Patrick.

He recalls how every time they listened to music, Pete got him to hold up his favorite albums, read out the artists and the titles, how Pete nodded along as Patrick excitedly babbled about music, missing the more and more obvious. Each time, Patrick was the one to sort them back, his need to be pedantic overshadowing why Pete never insisted on helping him like he usually does. He remembers that every time they used Patrick’s laptop, Pete let him handle everything, made Patrick search YouTube and Netflix and read out whatever seemed interesting to a curious merman, and Patrick had always chalked that up to Pete not wanting to mess with the foreign technology.

It finally clicks. “You can’t read,” Patrick says slowly, more to himself than to Pete.

“I _ can _ read,” Pete says very indignantly, “just not your letters.”

Patrick keeps staring at Pete, slightly horrified with himself. How did he miss this, how did he never stop to think that perhaps, whatever merman magic grant Pete the ability to speak English doesn’t come with the convenient ability to be literate in the language as well?

Clearly, this is very uncomfortable to Pete, who keeps clutching the Miles Davis vinyl in his hands to the point where it looks dangerously close to getting damaged. “I can read,” Pete repeats in a low voice, “so don’t look at me like that.”

“But you need to be able to read English!” Carefully, Patrick takes the vinyl, places it on the pile next to them. “Pete, you’re committed to being a human, right? Then you need to learn how to read our language, too.”

“I _ know_!” Pete is getting louder, and he sounds upset. “I know, but do _ you _ know how all this makes me feel? I’m a grown merman – well, or just _ man _. I’m very smart and witty and poetic in my native tongue, I can read and write and express myself just fine in it, I’m not – I’m not really like this, okay? I don’t stumble over words, I don’t have to ask for the meaning of weird phrases, I’m not a weirdo who knows nothing and is incapable of even the most basic tasks!”

Angrily, Pete folds his arms over his chest, and looks away. On most days Pete is so happy and cheerful, he manages to let Patrick forget how much of a struggle all of this really is to him. No, he doesn't even want Patrick to notice, and that breaks Patrick’s heart as much as it makes him feel upset and useless as well.

Frustrated with the whole situation, Patrick struggles to find words. “Pete, you’re a human. You’re not a weirdo -”

“Yes, I _ am _ a weirdo_, _ ” Pete interrupts him in a shaky voice, “what I am _ not _ is a goddamn human. I merely traded my tail and my voice for a skewed version of the body of one. I’m a bastard between both worlds, neither merman nor human...” Pete breaks off, chokes back a sob as he wipes over his eyes.

Patrick watches him helplessly, his mind racing to find an answer. “I don’t care what you are. You’re the man I love, and I know you’re not only smart and witty and beautiful, you’re the most courageous person I ever met. Leaving the oceans to come join me on land, to start anew in a different body, in a foreign world, with me – that’s the bravest thing I can imagine.”

Pete sniffles, but he slowly lowers his hands from his face to look at Patrick, teary-eyed and his voice trembling as he whispers: “Can you really love me, even though I’m just a former merman masquerading as a human?”

“Pete, you are so, so much more,” Patrick whispers back, tongue almost tripping over his words, “and I love you so, so much. I’m sorry for being so stupid sometimes and not knowing what to say or what to do. I’m just new to all of this as well. I don’t mean to upset you or be condescending, ever, I just… You came to me, and I want to make sure you’re having the best life possible. That you never regret your decision. I love you, and I don’t ever want you to feel otherwise.”

There are pesky tears in Patrick’s eyes now too, clouding his view and leaving wet streaks down his cheeks. As much as he wants to stay calm and collected right now for the upset merman, Patrick has to admit to himself that he’s just not strong enough. “I’m sorry,” he brings out between two sobs, “I should be stronger than this, I shouldn’t be crying...”

He hears Pete make a sound between a sob and a chuckle, before he feels how Pete comes closer, leans his head on his shoulder. Patrick opens his arms, and Pete leans into the embrace, slings his own arms around Patrick as he kisses a tear away.

“Don’t say that. You’re allowed to be overwhelmed as well. I love you, too,” Pete whispers into his ear, “and I’m not one to give up that easily. Whatever our people’s tales might say about humans and the merfolk being incompatible, whatever unhappy endings they came up with, I don’t care. I have you, and that’s all I need.”

“You need to talk to me,” Patrick says softly, kisses Pete’s cheek. “I feel so useless otherwise.”

Pete’s smile is somewhere between sunshine and bittersweet. “You already did so much, you have no idea...”

For a while, they just lie in each other’s arms in comforting silence.

“I’m sure you can learn how to read,” Patrick mumbles after a while. “There are classes for adults, there have to be. I’ll help you find one. We will get you all the support, I’ll practice with you every day, and we can buy you all the books you want and you’ll see, us humans do have some great stories to tell, we have science to share, you’ll like it.”

Pete nods slowly, caught up in his own thoughts. It looks like he wants to say something, but he doesn’t; well, all Patrick can do is ask, and wait for the right moment. It was a lot for one day already. That night, Pete stays on his side of the bed, tossing and turning restlessly until even the cats, usually favoring him, get up and look for a place to sleep elsewhere. Pete has those sleepless nights sometimes, and Patrick wants nothing more than to help, but he realizes that sometimes, all the help he can offer is to give Pete some space.

In the morning, Pete remains reserved, he doesn’t talk much and seeks comfort in petting the two sleepy Maine Coons on the couch. At work, Patrick looks up adult literacy classes online, and the Human Rights Initiative’s project seems to be the one that fits their needs the most. It’s a non-profit human rights group that branches out into different fields, but their adult literacy program has won awards and their waiting list isn’t too long. Patrick signs them up, and hopes for the best.

In the evening, Patrick comes home to an empty house. No doubt that Pete sought out solace somewhere at the beach. He sighs to himself as he feeds the cats, and waits for Pete to come back. Restlessly, Patrick wanders through the old house, and he ends up at the shelves that host the treasures of the sea that Pete used to bring him. A tiny gift to commemorate each time they were able to meet against all odds; it really is such a sweet gesture. Patrick smiles to himself as he carefully traces over the iridescent shell Pete gifted to him first, marvels at the beauty the collection still holds. Pete looks at it from time to time, Patrick knows, but he also knows that it usually ends with gloomy sighs and a sadness in Pete’s expression he can’t bear to see. Carefully tucked away in the corner is the one thing Pete never looks at, never even mentions – inside a small, antique case that once must’ve hold the jewelry of people long dead, Patrick keeps the scale the merman once gifted him.

Right now, Patrick traces his fingers over the ornamented wood, slowly opens it up. The scale inside is as magnificent as ever, shimmering turquoise even in the dim light of the bedroom. Pete’s never asked to see it, and Patrick feels like it’s not his place to bring it up. With a sigh, Patrick carefully closes the box, puts it back again. As much as Patrick believes Pete when he says he doesn't regret his choices, he wishes Pete would open up a little bit about the feelings he does like to deny – the homesickness, the melancholia Patrick sees in Pete’s strange eyes sometimes.

When the sun starts to set and Pete’s still out, Patrick starts to worry. But just as expected, he finds Pete at the beach, sitting on the rocks where they used to meet, his legs in the water as he stares into the ocean. The sunset spills the last bit of red and violet light over them as Patrick sits down next to Pete, hesitantly at first, until Pete takes his hand. Pete is still pondering over something, Patrick can see that, but for now, they just hold hands and listen to the whispering of the waves together.

“Your wish,” Pete says after a while, still staring off into the distance, “I always wondered why you made such a strange wish. You could have asked for almost anything, from fame or fortune to beauty and love, and yet you chose to befriend a merman.”

“I could have asked for almost anything...” Patrick repeats, and he sighs as he thinks back to their first encounter. “But I didn’t want any of that.”

Pete scoffs in disbelief. “You didn’t want any of that?”

“Okay, maybe, I am not that noble,” Patrick admits with a sigh, “of course, part of me wants to be incredibly beautiful, or filthy rich, or blessed with infinite knowledge. But… I think there is a price to pay for all of these things. The universe won’t let me make these demands without asking for something back, right? You said I had to make a wish, so balance can be restored – so whatever I had asked for, I would have had to give something back for balance as well, right?”

Pete turns his head to look at Patrick now, brown eyes peeking out from underneath long black lashes. “Magic can be cruel, indeed. You are right – I guess you can never take from the universe without having to give something back.”

“Part of me way want these things, but… They’re just a fantasy. They’re all too big, too powerful, too much for me to handle.” Patrick shrugs, traces his thumb over the back of Pete’s hand. “At the end of the day, I’m just a simple little human, insignificant to the greater course perhaps, but… That’s okay with me. I had my chance to make a wish, and I am very happy with how it turned out. I don’t regret it for a second. Falling in love with you, and to have you by my side, every day, that is all the beauty, fortune, and love I could ever need.”

“You are a strange one.” Pete laughs, shakes his head. “Alas, I am happy your wish gave us the chance to fall in love.”

Patrick smiles at him, squeezes his hand, before they both turn their heads to the ocean again. While Patrick looks at the golden glimmer of the waves, he can’t help but give in to his curiosity, and hesitantly, he asks: “What would’ve happened, had I wished for money or fame?”

“I was a powerful merman. I easily could’ve granted you these wishes. I could have given you more gold than you could ever spent, I could have cast a spell on you to make you desirable to anyone you meet...” Pete trails off, but there’s a sharp edge to his words, something unsaid that makes Patrick shiver.

“And then?” Patrick inquires carefully.

“And then?” Pete echoes, and he turns his head back to stare at the dark depth of the ocean, overshadowed by the stars and a full moon. “You saved my life, Patrick. Granting you the wish I owed is the only reason I was allowed to stay in this world even after my time. So, after I had granted your wish, I would have gone back into death’s hands.”

Patrick’s chest tightens at the mere thought. “You would’ve _ died_?”He asks breathlessly, a cold shiver running down his spine. “Oh, Pete, I didn’t know – why didn’t you tell me?”

“I couldn’t.” Pete smiles leniently, like he always does when Patrick doesn’t understand the cosmic rules of magic.

“I wished for friendship,” Patrick eventually manages to bring out, “what does that mean for you, Pete? Please tell me you won’t die because of me – Pete, I never meant to have this kind of responsibility! I never wanted to hurt you! All I wanted to do was help!”

“I’m sorry you got dragged into this. The merfolk and our magic must be strange to an outsider.” Pete shakes his head again. “You wished for friendship, so I suppose I’ll stay alive for as long as I have friendship to give. It’s not a one-off wish, which does have its advantages...”

“Like what?” Patrick inquires incredulously. By now, he’s holding Pete’s hand so tightly it almost hurts, out of fear that Pete might just slip away into the depths of the deadly ocean if he’s not careful enough.

“Why do you think I was able to turn human? Your wish to be with me was some powerful help. Otherwise, the whole process could’ve ended much worse...” Pete shudders, no doubt thinking of whatever horror stories have been told to him by his people’s tales.

“That’s nice, but really, I don’t care much for stupid wishes.” Like the rest of his body Patrick’s voice is trembling. “Your life belongs to you and you alone, Pete. Always and forever.”

“I know it does.” Pete’s smile widens a little, and it finally looks more like happiness than melancholy. “It’s no use to ponder over the past, anyway. Your kind heart saved my life, and brought love into it. That is what matters, is it not?”

“I love you, too,” Patrick says weakly. “But please, in the future, tell me of any magic caveats, would you? We’re in this together, Pete, and I feel so useless whenever you keep me in the dark about those big issues impacting your life – _ our _ lives.”

Pete looks like he wants to object. He doesn’t, just shakes his head, and wiggles his hand out of Patrick’s too-tight grip. For a moment, Patrick worries if he’s gone too far, until Pete slides closer to him, slings his arm around Patrick’s waist. They stay like that until the sun has vanished completely, leaving only the cold light of the moon and the glimmer of the stars.

Pete doesn’t talk until they’re in bed together, ready for the night, but with sleep far away from their minds.

“It hurts,” Pete says slowly. “Walking hurts.”

“I – what?” Alarmed by this sudden declaration, Patrick sits up, reflexively puts a hand on Pete’s thigh. “What do you mean, walking hurts? Do your legs hurt? Is there anything wrong with them? Is it too much of a strain?”

“Nothing like that,” Pete interrupts him. He sits up as well, brushes off Patrick’s hand. “It’s not really my legs. It’s...”

“It’s _ what_, Pete?” Patrick asks desperately.

“It’s like your stories say. _ Every step you take will be as if you were treading upon sharp knives and as if the blood must flow_. Metaphorically speaking.”

That’s all Pete says, like it’s the most natural thing to say. Patrick thinks the way his heart is pounding, this day will cost him at least three years of his life span. “That can’t be true. It’s just a story – something so cruel can’t be true.”

“Sometimes, there is a grain of truth even to the most fantastical stories.” Pete holds up a hand, and adds: “Although us merfolk _ do _ have an immortal soul. Saying otherwise is so typically human, and so preposterous!”

Too stunned to say anything, Patrick just stares at him. Pete is almost aggravatingly calm about this big and terrifying revelation.

“So… Let me get this straight. For the past few weeks, every step you took caused you literal pain? All these times when you seemed exhausted or worn-out it wasn’t because of walking being so physically demanding on your body, it was – it was pain?”

Pete shrugs awkwardly, with a forced smile on his lips. “See, that’s why I didn’t want you to know. You’d just worry and I’d feel bad for making you worry so much. It’s fine. I made the deal, I knew about the consequences, and there’s nothing I can do to change that. I figured I’d eventually get used to it, and… it would be okay. We would be okay.”

None of this makes Patrick feel any less worried. In fact, the only thing holding him back from worrying him even more is that some of his brain power is redirected to feeling incredibly guilty. All this time he’d just chalked Pete’s reactions up to exhaustion, he hasn’t questioned Pete much, always assumed that the merman was just too proud to admit physical exhaustion. Patrick hadn’t considered actual pain at every step, he hasn’t thought this part of the Little Mermaid stories to be true.

“I’ll get used to it,” Pete repeats nervously, “seriously, it’s not that bad. I can deal with it. I’d walk a thousand miles for you if I had to, no matter the pain.”

That’s very sweet and heroic of him, but Patrick feels worried and angry nonetheless. This isn’t fair, Pete has been nothing but brave and patient and loving, him hurting any more _ isn’t fair_, and before Patrick knows it, he’s grabbed Pete by the shoulders, forcing Pete to look at him.

“Listen to me,” Patrick says through gritted teeth, less to Pete and more to whatever magic entity is responsible, “I wished for friendship, and I do not want to see my friends in pain. I want my friends to be happy. I want you to be happy. I wished for your friendship, and that wish doesn’t leave any room for whatever other deal you make to cause you any harm you don’t deserve!”

Pete looks at him thoughtfully, reaches up to Patrick’s face to wipe away a tear Patrick hasn’t even noticed was rolling down his cheek.

“I’d take the pain for you if I could,” Patrick says between two stifled sobs.

“Shush, no. I wouldn’t let you, because I wouldn’t want that.” Pete smiles at him, wipes away another tear, before drawing Patrick into a comforting hug.

A little embarrassed about his outburst, Patrick wipes over his eyes. “I’m sorry I ended up crying again. This shouldn’t be about me.”

“No, don’t apologize for that.” Pete leans his head on Patrick’s shoulder, his braids tickling Patrick’s skin. “If you want me to open up to you, you have to entrust me with your problems as well. I’m not that fragile, and I am your partner. Doing this together also means that I get to support you.”

Patrick nods weakly. Even though the tears have stopped, the terror in his chest has not. Every single step Pete ever takes is supposed to hurt – it can’t. It just _ can’t _. Humans themselves might not possess any magic, but that doesn’t mean Patrick couldn’t try to make the best of the power of wishes he once got that fateful day he decided to save a merman’s life.

“Is there anything else?” Patrick asks when he’s calmed down a little.

Pete shakes his head. “The tail, the voice, and the pain. The trinity of sacrifices so I could obtain a human body. There is nothing more, I promise.”

“It’s total bullshit,” Patrick declares angrily, but Pete just shakes his head again, too tired to argue about the seemingly arbitrary rules of the merfolk magic.

That night, Patrick regrets his boldness to try and interfere with whatever rules there are for mermaids and magic when for the first time since he came to the surface, Pete falls sick. Whatever Patrick said or did, it worked in some way, although Patrick isn’t sure if that is a good or a bad sign. Pete doesn’t seem to know either, he’s just curled up in pain on the bed, his skin burning from a fever. The two cats are curled up next to him, purring in their sleep as if attempting to calm Pete. The hours until sunset are passing by in a blur of ibuprofen, wet towels, trying to get Pete to drink something, and dozing off once in a while only to wake up abruptly every time Pete tosses and turns in his sleep.

At the dawn of the new day, Pete has stopped shaking, and finally speaks up again. “All this was way easier when I was just a jolly little merman who didn’t try to mess with magic.” 

“’m sorry,” Patrick mumbles back, words slurred from sleep deprivation. He hears the tap tap tap of Pete’s naked feet, followed by a loud thud and surprised shout. Immediately, Patrick jolts up, almost falls out of bed to check what happened.

What he sees is that Pete is sitting on the floor, looking utterly dumbfounded as he rubs over his thighs. Patrick hurries over to him, but Pete’s legs feel completely normal under his touch.

“It worked,” Pete says slowly, surprise in his voice, “When I just walked, I felt – nothing. No pain. Nothing.”

“Seriously?” Patrick feels as surprised at Pete. “It was that easy?!”

“I don’t think it was that easy, or we would’ve solved the problem weeks ago.” Pete lets out a deep breath as he rubs over his thighs again. “Maybe, your wish was stronger than any ancient curse. Or maybe, it was just a test to see if the two of us could figure out how to deal with our problems together. Maybe it was a big cosmic lesson about love -”

“I don’t really care,” Patrick interrupts him, takes Pete’s hand into his, “it doesn't matter, does it? All that matters is you are relieved of your pain.”

“You’re so prosaic sometimes.” Pete rolls his eyes, but the smile on his lips belies the harsh words. Then, he drags Patrick up to take a shower, and then for a walk on the beach to watch the sunrise. Normally, being awake at this hour, let alone out for a walk, wouldn't be something Patrick wants to do. But Pete is so excited and giddy with his big grin and the way he runs over the damp sand like an overly excited puppy – first time Patrick has seen him run, really – that Patrick gets over his usual morning grumpiness. There’s no way he can be anything but happy and excited as well, smiling back at Pete who twirls one, two, three times before he falls on his butt, laughing.

“You’ll still carry me sometimes, and you’ll still give me piggyback-rides, right?” Pete asks as they walk back together, hand in hand. “That was fun.”

“Sure thing.” Patrick laughs, turns to press a kiss to Pete’s cheek.

When they’re almost back home, Pete looks pensively at Patrick as he plays with Patrick’s hand in his. “This might have gone well, but please… Whatever power your wish held over me, you must’ve ended it for good. It did leave me with the ability to walk without pain, but… I suspect that might be the last demand to be made. Don’t be disappointed when you can’t wish your way to happiness.”

Patrick shakes his head, squeezes Pete’s hand as he answers: “I don’t need a damn wish for that. All I need is you.”

Pete gives him the biggest grin and a kiss for that.

In the evening, they celebrate with pizza for dinner and yet another walk at the beach, with an overly excited Pete still marveling at how much fun walking on land can be. This time, Pete insists to give Patrick a piggyback-ride home, which leaves both of them laughing and shouting as Patrick holds on for dear life and Pete half-runs, half stumbles over the sand.

They end up in bed together, making out lazily, desperate hands wandering under shirts. Patrick’s legs are wrapped around Pete’s hips, his growing erection straining against the denim of his jeans.

“Off?” Pete asks, already fumbling with the button of Patrick’s pants. Even after having lived on land for a while now, he’s never been that fond of clothes, and even less when they get in the way of them touching.

“Off,” Patrick confirms eagerly, and by now Pete has enough experience to undress quickly and without getting caught up in sleeves, zippers, or pant legs.

A naked Pete is something Patrick will never get tired of. The curve of his smile, his muscles working under inked skin as he sits between Patrick’s spread legs again, leans in to let his pretty mouth find all the sensitive spots on Patrick’s skin. The novelty of a human body must’ve worn off, Patrick thinks, and yet Pete always takes his time to carefully map out Patrick’s body with his tongue. From his throat to collarbones, the hair on his chest down to his navel, the soft give of his tummy and thighs, Pete’s mouth is everywhere to lick, suck, kiss, bite until Patrick is nothing but moans and goosebumps. Patrick registers Pete’s hard-on brushing against his thighs, before Pete’s lips and tongue are on his own cock, shutting down any further thoughts.

Pete’s mouth feels so damn good, Patrick almost whines in protest when Pete withdraws to sit up and reach for the lube in the drawer of the antique nightstand. Pete sends him a big grin as he slicks up his fingers, then leans back down to take Patrick’s cock into his mouth again, rests the pad of his finger against Patrick’s entrance. Patrick gradually relaxes, and it doesn't take long until Pete has worked three fingers into him, crooked just right to rub over Patrick’s prostate.

“Stop it,” Patrick gasps, “stop it, or I’m gonna come already...”

Pete looks at him with big brown eyes, lips still sealed around Patrick’s cock, a silent offer that he’d be fine to keep going and let Patrick come like this. But Patrick shakes his head, his hand on Pete’s shoulder to gently push him off his dick. Tonight, he wants more.

With another big grin, Pete reaches for lube again, slicks up his cock with slow, sultry strokes that makes Patrick’s own still spit-wet cock ache with lust and impatience. Finally, Pete leans over him again, the blunt tip of his dick nudging against Patrick’s entrance. Patrick puts a hand on Pete’s chest to stop him from moving, because there’s some adjustment to their position to be made first. Pete waits, and while Patrick has to admit he isn’t all that flexible, he does manage to left his legs enough to rest them on Pete’s biceps at least. Pete looks at him cautiously, clearly into it, just not entirely sure how to handle the position.

“Go slow,” Patrick instructs him, moaning a little when Pete does lean in a little, his cock pushing further into Patrick, “ah, yes, like that...”

Pete continues to bottom out slowly, his eyes fixed on Patrick, who’s too focused on Pete’s dick sliding impossibly deep into him. He has one hand on the back on Patrick’s knees now, tentatively, not daring to push down just yet. Despite the prep and lube, his dick feels like a lot to take, hard and big and unrelenting as Patrick clenches down around it.

Once Pete is all the way in, Patrick draws him in for a kiss, a welcome distraction as he tries to adjust to Pete’s cock. A moment later, Pete breaks the kiss, tries to move a little, stopped by Patrick’s hand on his chest once more.

“Not yet,” Patrick brings out in a strained whisper, “This is – this is a bit more difficult than I imagined...”

It really is, in more than one way. Not only is Pete’s dick buried up to the hilt inside his body, with Patrick’s legs thrown over Pete’s arms, Pete’s thighs meeting his ass, Patrick also feels rather vulnerable. Any movement is more or less up to Pete, who looks equally anxious now.

“We can stop. We can do something different, or I can just go back to sucking your dick. Anything you want, Patrick...” Pete’s voice is soothing, and there’s no doubt he’s sincere about his offer. As strange as the former merman always was and still might be from time to time, it is right here, right now and from the bottom of his heart that Patrick realizes once and for all that Pete would never set out to abuse his trust or intentionally hurt him, ever.

With that in mind, Patrick draws Pete in for another kiss. He can taste a faint hint of himself as soft lips press against his own, feels himself relax, that last bit of tension vanishing from his body as did whatever last bits of doubts that were left. When they part again, there’s only one answer Patrick wants to give.

“What I want is you,” Patrick whispers, “right here, right now, and like this. I’m – I’m good. You can move...”

Very slowly and considerately, Pete does just that. He’s careful, even a bit anxious still, which is kind of sweet, and kind of reassuring. Pete is trying just as hard as Patrick is to not screw things up, and it’s difficult for both of them sometimes.

Then, Pete manages to angle his thrusts just right, his cock slamming into Patrick’s prostate now, causing Patrick to cry out with pleasure and hold on so tightly to Pete’s ass that his nails are sure to leave marks. Patrick’s own cock twitches, leaks pre-cum over their tummies.

“Good?” Pete mutters into Patrick’s ear, followed by sharp teeth gently nibbling at his ear lobe, just enough to make Patrick shudder with pleasure.

Patrick manages to bring out something that sounds like approval and resembles actual words, before his ability to form coherent thoughts flies out the window as Pete slams into his prostate again. Still trapped between their bodies, Patrick’s dick feels impossibly hard, and it’s yearning to be touched. But Pete’s so into this, he’s just found a good pace and some confidence, hips meeting the back of Patrick’s trembling thighs, lips sucking a bruise to Patrick’s neck, his cock feeling so, so good inside of Patrick.

“Pete?” Patrick manages to gasp out, “y-you wanna…?”

“No, I’m good. You first,” Pete insists, lust and hunger in his golden eyes as he sits up just enough that Patrick can work a hand between their bodies. The moment his fingers close around his dick, Patrick lets out a loud whine, head thrown back, eyes closed. Pete presses kisses to his exposed throat, sharp teeth and wet tongue trailing over Patrick’s Adam’s apple, his cock continuing to hit all the right places inside of Patrick. It’s such an intimate moment, they’re so close and deeply connected and Pete really feels so, so fucking good that Patrick can’t help it; one more desperate tug at his dick and then his orgasm hits him, hard and intense. Pete fucks him through it, until Patrick is just a boneless, breathless, shaky mess in his arms.

Although Patrick feels a little overstimulated already, he puts his hand on the back of Pete’s neck, draws him back in. He wants to feel it, feel _ everything _, the delicious way his skin burns under Pete’s touches, how every post-orgasm sensation is somehow sharpened and dulled out at the same time, he wants to feel the very moment Pete gives in to pleasure. It doesn’t take Pete long to get there, and he comes with one last thrust and Patrick’s name on his lips.

As much as Patrick would like to just bask in the afterglow, he does start to feel sore, and his back and legs are hurting from the unusual position. He taps Pete’s shoulder and thankfully, Pete already gets the hint, sparing Patrick the temporarily impossible effort of having to string together words into coherent sentences. Slowly, Pete’s cock slides out of him as Pete sits back up. Patrick shudders a little; the slide-out is always weird, and he can’t help but groan when he puts his aching legs back down on the mattress. Pete sends him a sympathetic look as he gently rubs over Patrick’s thighs, until Patrick points out they’re both in need of a shower and fresh sheets.

Freshly showered and the sex-stained sheets exchanged for freshly laundered ones, the two of them are sitting in bed together in their underwear, sharing the leftover pizza. Pete lets out a hearty sigh, and ask in a dreamy voice: “Hey, Patrick. Will life always be this perfect?”

Patrick smiles to himself as he wipes off some sauce from his mouth. “Not always, but sometimes.”

Pete chews on his next slice, lost in his thoughts for a while, before he concludes: “That’s okay. With you by my side, I can make it through the good_ and _ the bad times.” He rests his head on Patrick’s shoulder, and for a while, neither of them talk.

“I’m a bit scared of going to the adult literacy class,” Pete eventually confesses in a hushed voice. “All these new people, and having to learn something this big… The public pool is one thing, but this?”

Patrick reaches up to put a hand on Pete’s cheek, soothingly rubs his thumb over the sharp jawline. “I know it might be difficult at first. But I’ll be here for you, and I believe in you.”

Pete nods, and for now, Patrick can believe his own words.

It’s about a week later that Pete is lucky enough to get a spot in one of the Human Rights Initiative’s classes, and he’s as excited as Patrick about this venture into the real world.

That is until they sit in an impromptu office in a community center, with a shabby desk and big posters on the wall, and a man that introduced himself as Travie in front of them. Travie is very tall, slightly intimidating, and he’s looking at them with a sense of doubt that scares Patrick more than anything else.

Because the real world and it’s rules are just as hurtful bullshit as the magic depth of the ocean that the former merman sprang from.

“So,” Travie starts, “you don’t have any paperwork for Pete?”

Patrick swallows, his heart rate too high to be healthy, beads of sweat forming on his too-pale skin. While Pete might not fully grasp the seriousness of their situation, Patrick’s own nervousness makes Pete nervous as well. Which doesn’t help their cause.

“No,” Patrick repeats himself uselessly, “No, we don’t.”

The look Travie shoots him doesn't help the anxiety. Of course, Travie doesn’t know that this is because Pete is a merman-turned-human, making it impossible for him to have any sort of paperwork, but Patrick has a feeling that might not be a valid explanation to Travie.

“Okay then, no paperwork. And how is that?” Travie requires.

He looks at Pete, who looks at Patrick, who answers: “It’s a long and complicated story, and it’s really not mine to tell.”

There really isn’t a good or believable way to explain their situation, and if Pete ever wants to try and tell anyone who he really is, than it’s his decision to do so, not Patrick’s.

Travie remains as calm as one can in his situation, although he sighs quietly to himself, and eyes Patrick once more with a not very reassuring look in his eyes. From Travie’s perspective, the whole ordeal must seem very shady and very questionable.

“I just want the best for Pete,” Patrick says, which he immediately realizes doesn’t sound all that great, “and that’s why we came here for help. I want him to have a life, to have independence, I want him to be ready and able and free to choose the paths in life he wants without being afraid.”

Travie nods slightly, then looks at Pete.

Pete raises his brows. “I just came here to learn how to read English.”

Travie nods again, and signs him up for the next available class. Patrick has the distinct feeling that the difficult part is just about to start – for the both of them.

Life has to go on though, no matter how many difficulties each step brings with it. A lingering feeling of fear has come into it now that Pete is really out there and committing to being a human with all it entails, from learning how to read to dealing with the issues of missing identification. Pete still remains a little confused about why things like a birth certificate and other slips of paper are so important in the human world, but by now, he’s grasped that no matter how ridiculous he might find the human laws, he has to follow them to a certain point.

At least the actual literacy classes go well. Pete is a quick learner, and as much as it bothers him that he needs to re-learn a skill he kind of already possessed, he’s eager to give it his best. Once he is able to spell out simple words and sentences, he fills one of the pages in his notebook just with their names, and then once Patrick shows him how it’s written, adds a dozen_ love you _ to it in somewhat shaky but legible writing. Patrick pins the page to the fridge, although Pete rolls his eyes and insists that soon enough, he’ll write Patrick some actual poetry to hang there.

Patrick has seen Pete write in the language of the merfolk, too: strange, elegant line work that resembles sound waves more than letters. Pete doesn’t do it very often, because it always makes him melancholic, to know he can still write, but never speak his native tongue again. Still, they hang a page of Pete’s merfolk poetry next to his clumsy but eager attempts at writing in English.

They also see an immigration lawyer now, courtesy of HRI. His name is Gabe Saporta, “a former illegal alien as well,” he has assured them both with a wink, “I know what it’s like, and that’s why I chose to devote my life to helping out. Even if it pays like shit here.”

Despite the rather unconventional impression Gabe gives, he seems to be a formidable lawyer nonetheless. Thankfully, after time and some private (and probably awkward) conversations with Pete and Gabe, Travie also trust them enough to believe that Patrick is not involved in human trafficking, and that Pete chose to be with Patrick on his own free will.

Aside from that, Pete has gotten really, really good at swimming. He’s a natural, no surprise there, easily better at swimming than Patrick already.

They regularly visit Pacific Beach with Joe, who makes good on his promise of teaching Pete what else there is to do in the water but swim. Careful, of course, because despite his abilities, Pete still lacks the cautiousness that was never necessary when he was still a merman, but is very much required now that he has a human body.

Aside from his reading and writing skills improving quickly, Pete actually becomes friends with Travie, who really grew to like the odd little guy with weird teeth and strange tattoos. Not only does Travie commend Pete’s progress in the adult literacy class, he also finds out what Patrick hadn’t even really considered – despite not being able to speak in the tongue of the merfolk, Pete’s origin as a siren still enables him to adapt to speak pretty much every human language. A valuable skill that, paired with Pete’s empathy and outgoing personality, make Travie ask him if he would consider to volunteer for HRI as well.

“I won’t get paid,” Pete says when he tells Patrick over dinner one evening, with caution in his voice, “but it’ll help me socialize, and I could give back a little. And… I think it will be fun. I want to be productive, I want to _ do _ something.”

“Do it,” Patrick says with a smile, and he puts his fork down to rest his hand on Pete’s. “I think it’s perfect for you.”

Pete smiles back at him, and the following week, the Human Rights Initiative has a very enthusiastic former merman volunteering for them.

It does do wonders for Pete’s confidence, and although a second income would be nice, Patrick doesn’t push anything. Travie has offered that once Pete has completed all his classes and has sorted out the legal documentation process, he could sign up to teach himself. Pete is more than excited for that, and Patrick is happy to wait.

There is still so much to explore in the human world. Patrick takes Pete shopping for clothes, to the cinema, to the various other museums San Diego has to offer, they try every food Pete is curious about.

There is also still so much to explore in the bedroom. Which, as Pete insists, is a silly way to phrase it “because we don’t actually have sex in the bedroom _ only_, Patrick.” Save for the annoyance over the English language, Pete enjoys their intimate moments, loves everything from sex to simply touching each other. And Patrick loves it as well, likes the tenderness in Pete’s touches, enjoys Pete’s passion whenever they fuck, adores how every kiss of Pete still sends a shiver through his body.

Everything has gone so well for them these past few weeks, and Patrick could just shut his mouth and never question their happiness, but that doesn't feel right.

It’s after they video-chat with Patrick’s mother together for the first time that Patrick can no longer stand to ignore the sadness and homesick look Pete gets whenever they talk about family, about home, about all the things Pete refuses to talk about. As much as he – _ and _ Pete – like to pretend there’s no need to talk, when Patrick sees that melancholic look on Pete’s face once more after they say goodbye to Patrick’s mom, he knows they need to have a conversation that has been long overdue.

They’re sitting on the couch together, Pete in Patrick’s arms; Pete is still quiet, surely he can guess what’s about to come.

Patrick brushes a soft kiss over Pete’s neck, whispers: “Do you ever miss being a merman?”

“I am committed to being a human,” Pete says in a shaky voice, “how much more do I have to do to prove that?”

“You don’t need to do anything. I believe you,” Patrick assures him. “But… Do you never miss what you left? You barely ever talk about it. I don’t want you to suppress your emotions or anything you want to say just because you might think it could hurt me. I see the melancholia in your eyes, Pete, and I just… I want you to know that you can share that part with me, too.”

It takes a while until Pete speaks up. “I like my life here. I’m with you, the man I love, and I grew to like the human world quite a bit. I enjoy Joe’s company and the strange sports he practices, I’ve made friends with Travie and the others at HRI, and it’s fun to help out with the classes. I like teaching. And there’s so much else! Cuddling with the cats, listening to your music, watching your movies, even… Even walking and legs in general turned out to be fun. As much as I love the sea, I love it here too much to ever go back permanently.” Pete pauses, and Patrick can see that there are unsaid words on his lips he doesn’t dare to voice.

“But…?” Patrick asks, tentatively.

“But...” Pete sighs, guilt written across his face. “Of course I miss my family. I miss singing with the whales. As much as I made myself home here on land, I do miss the ocean. It’s a place that I can never stop calling home, too. It will always hold a special place in my heart. I never regretted what I traded it for, but if I had the chance to go back there just one last time...”

Silence lingers between them. It’s not like Pete’s answer is unexpected, but hearing it out loud still hurts just a little. To know that there is a lost part of Pete’s life that Patrick can never replace, never even have any real access to, that’s not easy to accept.

“It’s no use to ponder over that. I don’t like to think about impossible things, and that’s why I never bring it up.” Pete looks down, his hands absent-mindedly tracing over his thighs. “I traded my tail for legs. My tail is gone, merged back with the endless waves of the ocean, and with nothing of it left, it can never be restored.”

All of it gone. These words send a cold shiver down Patrick’s spine, because he knows them not to be true.

“Not all of it is gone.” Patrick gets up from the couch, ignoring Pete’s questioning look, and rushes over to the shelf in their bedroom displaying the aquatic gifts from the former merman. Pete follows him, watches with raised brows as Patrick reaches for the wooden case, hands trembling. He turns around, holds it out to Pete who raises his hands, takes a step back, fear and excitement in his widened eyes.

“It can’t be,” Pete mutters in a shaky voice, hands still raised as if to protect himself from incoming disappointment.

“The scale you once gave to me – it didn’t vanish.” To prove his point, Patrick opens the case, and sure enough, the scale is still where it belongs, a flash of turquoise, the memory of a lifetime. Carefully, as if the scale might still disappear, Pete reaches for it, lets his fingers trace over the iridescent surface; when the scale doesn’t fade away from under his touch, Pete gently takes it into his hand, presses it against his chest as he sinks down on his knees.

“I was sure it had vanished as well,” Pete whispers under his breath, more to himself than to Patrick, who kneels down next to him now. “I never… Never even dared to dream...”

“I thought you knew. I thought that seeing the scale was too difficult for you, and that you’d just need some time until you could bear to look at it gain.” Patrick kind of wants to draw Pete into his arms, hold him tightly to assure himself that Pete is still here, that he hasn’t dissolved into water and foam, too. He refrains from doing so, given how agitated Pete is, and that he doesn’t look like he’d appreciate the gesture right now.

Pete just shakes his head, his gaze drawn back to the turquoise scale in the palm of his hands. “It’s alright. You couldn’t know, and I didn’t tell...”

“Know what? Tell me what?” Patrick asks, torn between impatience to finally get some answers and the desperation of not wanting to know the hurtful truths.

“I traded my tail for legs, and with nothing of my tail left, it would be forever impossible to regain it.” Pete pauses to trace his thumb over the scale in his hand, before he continues: “But there is one scale left. It did survive outside of the reach of the magic that took the rest of my tail. So...”

“So you could go back,” Patrick concludes the sentence in a thin voice. “You could have your tail back.”

For a while, Pete stays silent. “It doesn't mean I have to go back forever,” he says eventually, his eyes not meeting Patrick’s. “I could keep my human body. But… I have to earn the right to do so. I have to return to the ocean, and I have to prove that our love is so strong that nothing can ever tear us apart.”

“How? How do you prove that?” Patrick inquires anxiously.

Pete looks at Patrick with a sad, knowing smile. “Thirteen lunar cycles apart from each other, Patrick. If I can do that, if we can brave thirteen lives and deaths of the moon without each other and still be in love, then I get to keep both my tail and my human body, and the ability to alternate between both forms.”

“Thirteen lunar cycles,” Patrick repeats slowly as realization dawns on him. “That’s a whole year, Pete!”

“Those are the rules, and I must follow them if I wish to wander between both worlds.” As much as it is clear that Pete doesn’t like the thought of such a long separation either, there is no debating the magic laws that he is bound to.

“Will you do it?” Patrick asks after a while, his voice barely audible, “will you go back?”

The silence between them as Pete overthinks his answer is suffocating.

“Do I want to go back forever? No. Do I want to go back once more to meet my family and play with the whales, do I want to sing the songs I’ve known since childhood with the people I love in the language my current tongue refuses to speak? Do I want to feel the strength of my tail once more, see the glimmer of its scales, flick my fin and chase through the depths of the ocean I can never stop to call home? Yes. Yes, I want that, Patrick – I’d like to pretend I don’t, but… I do.”

It’s obvious how much guilt Pete feels at these words, which breaks Patrick’s heart. He never wants Pete to feel bad or guilty for missing his family and everything else he gave up to come on land. The merman made such a big sacrifice, and no matter Pete’s courage and love, there is no way it isn’t affecting him.

“Hey, it’s nothing bad. You’re so brave all the time, Pete. But admitting homesickness or missing your family isn’t weakness. And I know you love me, and because I love you, too, I’d only want you to be happy. I’d never ask you to do something that put my needs first, no matter how much it might hurt.” Love or not, it does hurt to say these words, but Patrick knows they need to be said regardless. “If you’d like to go back, if it would make you happy… I think you should.”

Pete sends him a lenient smile, closes his fist around the scale, his other hand absent-mindedly rubbing over his thighs again. “I have to be very sure. _ We _ have to be very sure, Patrick. I love you so, so much, but I know this is a lot to ask. A year apart, that is a long time – will you keep me in your heart, and wait for my return?”

“Of course I will!” Patrick can’t help but reach out for Pete’s empty hand, relieved when Pete takes it, laces their fingers together like he always does. “You were ready to give up so much for me, and I’d do it for you, too. If this is what makes you happy, then I’ll wait for as long as it takes. It will be difficult, but I love you, and I know I won’t ever stop loving you, no matter what.”

“It is a difficult decision,” Pete whispers eventually, his golden eyes pensively wandering from the hand that holds Patrick’s to the one that holds his precious scale. “I need to think about it some more.”

That night, Pete sleeps with the scale clutched in his hands, while Patrick barely sleeps at all.

The next day, Pete is clearly agitated, but he doesn’t want to talk, instead seeks solace on the cliffs at the beach, the scale in his hands, the saltwater of the ocean wetting his feet, the murmur of the waves whispering secrets to the merman that Patrick doesn’t understand. Patrick has said his part, and the rest is up to Pete.

The sun has long gone down and the moon risen to spill silver light over the star-filled sky. Patrick has joined Pete on the cliffs, and while they don’t speak, Pete sneaks one hand into Patrick’s, holds on tightly like he’s afraid to let go.

“I want to do it,” Pete eventually says, his voice barely audible over the sound of the waves clashing against the rocks. “No matter the risks, I want to go back one more time.”

Patrick simply nods, squeezes Pete’s hand. “When… If you want to come back, please do it because you love me, not because I wished for friendship once and unknowingly entangled our fates.”

“I gave you my friendship, and I think the wish is long fulfilled. It no longer holds any magic sway over me. I will return only because I choose to, and only because I love you.”

Patrick looks at him, and Pete looks back at him with hurt and happiness in his gorgeous merman eyes as he asks: “Can you forgive me?”

Patrick smiles at him, and shakes his head. “There is nothing to forgive.”

Pete smiles back, pretty lips curled upwards, revealing his sharp teeth, before he leans forward to kiss Patrick.

The kiss is passionate and desperate and tasting awfully of a goodbye.

Once they part, Pete lets go of Patrick’s hand, slowly descends from the rocks and deeper into the ocean; he hesitates for one last moment, then presses the hand still holding the scale to his chest, and dives down.

There’s a flash of bright-white light underwater, foam and splashes of saltwater, and just as panic overtakes Patrick, Pete resurfaces.

When he reaches out for Patrick’s hands, there’s webbing between his fingers.

“It worked,” Pete says in a quiet, slightly strained voice. He turns his head, and they both watch as Pete’s big tail fin splashes more water.

Patrick can’t help it, he follows Pete into the water, held up by the merman’s strong arms and tail. It doesn’t matter that he gets wet, that the water is slightly too cool to be bathing in it, what counts is that he gets to sling his arms over Pete’s shoulder, wrap his legs around his tail, feel Pete’s warm skin and shimmery scales under his touch, and Pete’s lips back against his own.

“Once more, I have to bid you goodbye,” Pete whispers afterwards, “No matter what happens, our summer together will always hold a special place in my heart. I love you, and I will come back next summer, and for every summer after that. You will wait for me, right?”

“Every day of my life,” Patrick whispers back, and Pete half-laughs, half-sobs before he kisses him again.

Pete waits until Patrick is safely back on land, and then he dives back underwater. A few flaps of his tail, and the merman is gone.

***

Patrick keeps his word, and he waits. And every day that passes feels like an eternity.

He tells everyone that Pete had to go back home and visit his family, a convenient explanation which technically isn’t even a lie. Everyone asks when Pete will be back, and Patrick forces himself to smile and not point out that the question isn’t _ when_, but _ if_.

The cruelty of life is that it doesn't care about Patrick’s plight. Time still goes on, and the sun rises every day, demanding Patrick to keep going when really, he just wants to either sit at the beach, desperately staring into the sea, or lay in bed to cry until he is exhausted enough to doze off and dream of golden eyes, inked skin, and iridescent scales.

But he forces himself to go on no matter what. It’s the thought of Pete returning that keeps Patrick going, because he doesn’t want Pete to come back and find everything in disarray, as if their lives weren’t complicated enough. And deep down, in the brief moments Patrick allows himself to consider something so terrifying, he knows that even if Pete were never to come back, the merman still wouldn’t want Patrick to give up.

Autumn comes, much warmer than Patrick is used to, and all he can think of is how much Pete would’ve enjoyed Halloween.

He misses Pete, of course he does. After getting used to having Pete around every day, after they lived together, each night spent in each other’s arms, it’s so hard to go back to the lighthouse and find it empty. Even Miles and Ella have noticed the absence, and they still meow from time to time as if they were inquiring about the missing strange creature that used to inhabit the house. Months pass, and the two Maine Coons still never sleep anywhere but on Pete’s empty side of the bed.

Thankfully, Joe keeps an eye out for him, and after a courteous two weeks of grievance and love-sickness, he had forced Patrick to stop hiding at home and go get back out in the world. Joe is easy to be around, he doesn't force Patrick to talk or anything, he’s happy whether they sit in silence at the beach bar drinking a beer or he gets Patrick to go out to some local gigs in the city.

Winter comes, and over the holiday, Patrick visits his family back in Chicago, the city he used to miss so much; it’ll always be part of him, Chicago will always be home, no doubt. But if Pete needs the sea, Patrick will live with him at the lighthouse forever. He will visit his old home, like Pete will do, and while that may hurt, it’s a small price to pay for getting to live a happy life with the man he loves so much.

A year is a long time. But no matter how much Patrick’s heart aches, he loves Pete as much as ever. As much as it hurts, Patrick still means what he told the merman: He wants to see Pete happy, and what is a year of sadness compared to a lifetime that he gets to spend in happiness with Pete?

So much of the lighthouse reminds him of Pete. At first, it hurts, to see the shelves that display all the underwater wonders that Pete once gifted him, to have his clothes piled up in the closet, to see the writings of Pete still pinned to the fridge, the looped letters and the elegant lines of the merfolk’s language spelling _ I love you _ in different languages.

But all of it is a reminder that Pete is real, that their love is real, that their summer together holds so many precious memories and that there will be more to come.

Spring comes, reviving nature and making life blossom. Summer is just around the corner, hidden behind the layers of morning fog trapped over the city that the May gray brings with it. Patrick is both incredibly excited and terribly nervous. When he looks into the mirror, the Patrick he sees has not changed much, save perhaps for a couple of added pounds and a little less hair, and even after a year of California sun, he’s still pasty-white. When he looks into mirror-Patrick’s eyes behind the black-framed glasses, they’re still full of hope and love and determination.

June gloom and its clouds are gone, leaving the sky clear. Thirteen lunar cycles have passed since Pete went back into the depth of the sea, and Patrick is shaking, heart pounding, his head spinning from a million thoughts racing through it.

The beach lays quiet in the first rays of sunlight, dawn painting it with a soft pastel glow. No merman is washed ashore, and Patrick doesn’t know if that’s a good or a bad sign. All he can do is sit by the rocks, their usual spot, and wait.

Patrick has waited a whole year, but these last few hours feel the worst. He’s still shaking, his eyes fixed on the ocean, waiting for anything to happen, a visible sign that a merman is approaching. The waves are calm, the water crystal-clear.

The sun is slowly rising, the soft light of dawn replaced by the bright light of the day, kissing Patrick’s skin, warming him. Patrick doesn’t notice, he’s lost track of time and space, his eyes still on the endless ocean.

Patrick sees nothing.

But he does feel a big splash drenching him with saltwater completely. It tears him out of his trance-like state, the salt burning in his eyes as he rubs over them, and when he turns around, he catches a glimpse of turquoise scales and golden skin.

“I’m back, Patrick,” he hears a familiar voice say softly, “I made it back to you.”

Every carefully planned out speech and words Patrick had overthought for weeks, months, a whole year now to say are forgotten in an instant. He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out of it. A wet hand with the familiar webbing between the fingers reaches for his, and Patrick takes it, then follows the merman into the water.

Two strong arms sling around Patrick’s waist to hold him up, and Patrick wraps his legs around Pete’s tail. A whole year, thirteen cycles of the moon, the pain carried through this time, it all vanishes when Patrick’s lips meet Pete’s again.

Patrick has thought about this moment so much, he’s played through a million different scenarios, but right now, he knows there’s only one thing he can say.

“I love you,” Patrick says in a shaky voice, “a year may have passed, but I love you just as much.”

“I love you, too,” Pete says softly, his golden eyes lovingly looking at Patrick as he rests their foreheads together. “And now that I made it back, nothing can ever tear us apart again.”

There’s a flash of bright light, the water turbulent as air bubbles and foam surrounding Pete’s tail; and a moment later, Patrick feels Pete’s legs against his.

Eventually, they make it back on land, sand beneath their feet, the lighthouse and the rest of their lives waiting for them.

Pete takes Patrick’s hand, lacing their fingers together, and says: “Let’s go home.”

  
  


***

The sea is quiet today, the sky clear, revealing a spectacle of stars that Patrick never gets tired of.

The boat rocks back and forth with the waves, an almost soothing sensation that Patrick has grown to like a lot over the years. He’s never imagined himself much of a boat enthusiast, but as it turns out, driving a boat is a lot of fun, and very convenient when one is in a relationship with a merman that misses the ocean. Even Pete, who’s barely gotten over his initial car-sickness, loves to ride the boat.

The engine is turned off, and Patrick sits on deck, head propped on his hands as he stares out into the endless ocean and lets his thoughts wander as he waits. Somewhere out there in the depths of the ocean is a beautiful merman with golden eyes and a turquoise tail heading back from a visit of his aquatic home.

Now that Pete has earned the ability to wander between both worlds, he regularly heads back into the sea, legs traded for his powerful tail. It’s not perfect, because nothing ever is. Despite being able to alternate between both forms, that doesn’t mean Pete never gets homesick. It doesn't mean that it’s not hard for the merman sometimes to struggle between balancing the life he has built on land and the one he left in the ocean. Just like Patrick will always miss Chicago, Pete will never stop calling the sea his home, too.

Building the life on land was no cakewalk either. Patrick remembers the many frightening hours and basically all their disposable income being spent at Gabe’s office, the immigration offices, in court, anything to help turn the merman into an officially documented citizen so that no one could ever come and disrupt their peace on land. Pete has hated every moment of it, and so has Patrick.

These dark days are behind them now, thankfully, and there’s a lot of good memories as well. Pete has learned to read, he has volunteered at HRI and even landed a job as a tutor, because who else can empathize with being lost and new to this sometimes scary world if not Pete?

And there’s love and friendships and fun, long walks at the beach, Pete’s never-ending amazement at what the human world has to offer, be it a new type of food, entertainment, a song he likes, or animals he’s never seen before. Patrick fondly remembers their first trip to the San Diego zoo. Pete had loved it so much, they now get the annual pass for the zoo every year as well as an abundance of keepsakes, from shirts to plushies to books, now that Pete can read English. Oh, it’s only one of their shared memories he cherishes, there are so many more, and so many more yet to come...

Patrick would like to pretend that a deep, spiritual connection allows him to just magically sense Pete’s presence, but the truth is, the merman manages to sneak up on him every single time.

Like now, when a splash of water tears Patrick out of his thoughts, and the well-known braying laughter makes his heart skip a beat.

“Pete! Again?” Patrick says with a false sense of sternness in his voice, betrayed by the smile he can’t hold back when Pete’s head slowly emerges from the water, grinning at him.

“It works every time,” Pete says, not apologetic at all. He flicks his tail fin once more, just enough to wet Patrick’s shirt some more. Then, he swims closer, and pulls himself up on the ship’s rail until he’s seated on the prow. The boat is so small and his tail so long, half of it is still submerged in the water.

Patrick sits down next to him, leans in for a kiss. He can taste the salt of the ocean on Pete’s lips.

“You like my hair?” Pete asks afterwards. “My mom did it for me!”

Patrick has met Pete’s mother, a graceful mermaid who seemed very wary of Patrick in the beginning. He’s seen some of Pete’s siblings too, with their matching turquoise tails and far more curiosity than their elders. Patrick caught glimpses of shimmering scales and big golden eyes so similar to Pete’s, has felt damp, careful hands tracing over his own when he held them out to the merfolk gathered around the boat, he has heard their laughter and their awe.

It’s rare that they venture out to meet Patrick, the route too long, too dangerous to be traveling there regularly. But from what Patrick can gather, they have accepted Pete’s liaison with a human, as strange as it has been for all of them. That means a lot to him, and he knows it means a lot to Pete as well.

Pete runs a hand over the braids on his head. The hair is braided in a beautiful pattern mimicking the waves of the ocean, no doubt requiring a lot of skill and patience, adorned with the precious jewelry of the merfolk.

“It’s gorgeous,” Patrick assures him as he reaches out to gently trace over the intricate hairstyle, and he means it. Not only does Pete’s hair look lovely, it’s clear that it makes Pete happy, which is the most important thing. For a while, Pete leans into the touch, sighs in contentment, before he gestures Patrick to sit back.

There’s the usual flash of bright-white light, and then Pete’s tail dissolves back into water and foam, leaving him with a pair of human legs from the waist down now. Only one scale remains – the same one he gifted to Patrick so many years ago. Pete nestles with the necklace he always wears, where he keeps the scale whenever he doesn’t have his tail, and a golden ring whenever he does.

It’s been three years since they first exchanged rings, a small ceremony at the courthouse without much fanfare. Patrick remembers sweating into his cheap suit, hands trembling as he put the ring on Pete’s and vice versa. It was a beautiful ceremony nonetheless, with all their friends from San Diego present, and Patrick’s family flown in from Chicago.

Pete says he loved the moment Patrick slid the simple wedding band on his finger. He was quite confused to hear that it was usually a one-time thing - “why would it be,” Pete had argued, “when it’s such a precious little gesture?”

And really, who was Patrick to disappoint his newly-wed merman-turned-human husband?

So they repeat the ritual, every time Pete changes back from merman to human body; he has to take the ring off anyway, because the webbing between his fingers whenever he shifts to merman prevents him from wearing it.

Said golden ring is handed to Patrick now with a big grin and an unspoken demand. Patrick smiles back at Pete as he takes the ring from his hand, then carefully slides it back on Pete’s ring finger. It’s such a small thing, but Patrick grew to love it, because it’s their intimate little moment, the reminder of a promise, and the way Pete looks at him every time with love-struck golden eyes and the prettiest smile never fails to make Patrick’s heart ache with happiness.

“I love you,” Pete whispers; he’s said it in the tongue of the merfolk before, too, strange sounds strung together into a strange but striking melody. No matter what language Pete chooses, it’s the most beautiful thing Patrick has ever heard him say.

“I love you too,” Patrick whispers back, and being able to get to say that to Pete, to have had the chance to fall in love with the merman and live their lives together – there is not a day Patrick isn’t thankful for that. He leans in to kiss Pete again, tastes the salt on his lips once more, feels the warmth of his body.

When they part, Pete smiles his most precious smile, all sharp teeth and pretty lips, and Patrick considers himself to be the luckiest man on earth – and of the seven seas as well.

Pete takes Patrick’s hand, lacing their fingers together, and says: “Let’s go home.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all so much for reading! <3
> 
> (Some ramblings...)  
I have a lot of feelings about languages and not belonging and such, obviously.  
That aside, I probably wouldn't have written this fic were it not for a fateful day on my summer vacation two years ago when I saw a beached dolphin - sadly, the poor creature was already dead. As a kid, I used to be obsessed with whales and dolphins, so seeing one stranded and decaying at the beach felt like a little part of childhood magic being taken away (sure, i knew everything alive is doomed to mortality, but actually seeing it is entirely different). Now, how do you reclaim said magic part of your childhood innocence and turn it into something positive? Obviously, by writing a 30+k fanfiction about a merman, complete with a happy ending. The power of fiction!
> 
> I can assure you that the boys got the happy ending they deserve, they learned some important lessons, and that whatever difficulties they face in life, they will get through it together.  
(Btw, the nonprofit that Pete joins is entirely made up, please don't sue me.)   
/rambling
> 
> I've worked very hard on the fic and art, and it took me a long time, so please, consider leaving a little comment to let me know what you think of it - that would mean so much to me!
> 
> And of course, don't forget to check out the other amazing entries in the challenge!~


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